


there and back again (here, at the end of all things)

by orphan_account



Series: yeongeun works [1]
Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Gen, Getting Together, Identity Issues, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, The Author Would Like To Show You Their Conspiracy Board Please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "It's been almost a year," Hakyeon speaks his realization aloud. "A year on the first.""Or the thirty-first, depending on where you start counting," Wongeun objects mildly. "It'll be another year next December. That's how time works.""Next December...?" Hakyeon repeats, his voice faint. The vast expanse of time stretches itself out before him, glittering galaxy-like with album releases and scheduled interviews. He hasn't been casting his vision that far ahead, preferring the blissful myopia of here and now. If he'd looked, he would have seen VIXX, only VIXX, taking it for granted that one day, Wongeun would move on.Hakyeon and Wongeun, from the beginning.





	there and back again (here, at the end of all things)

**Author's Note:**

> to hakyeon and wongeun: you deserve an author who can give you a true sweeping epic. what you’ve got is me, and this is my first romance story where everyone doesn’t die at the end. or in the middle. or both. orz
> 
> to the hundred or so good denizens of ao3 who continue to subscribe to me even though i only post porn and rarepairs: thank you always.
> 
> i’ve adhered very closely to canon events here. a few creative liberties, but overall, oodles more accurate than the average bear. that does mean i’ll be treating a few sensitive topics, so:
> 
>  **warnings for internalized homophobia, mentioned/implied external homophobia, and the mention and immediate aftermath of kim jonghyun’s suicide.** other than that, the usual drinking culture and existential despair of all my fics.
> 
> this story was inspired, directly or not, by the song hakyeon composed on eau de vixx, 닮아, which hasn’t been hyped nearly enough for my taste. i never recommend songs for my fics, but if this fic has a song, that song is it.
> 
> please do leave me a comment at the end! i’m also on [twitter](http://twitter.com/elysiyeon) and [tumblr](http://rapjoonhyung.tumblr.com).

 

* * *

**_there._ **

* * *

 

**[2015: July]**

****The last message Hakyeon reads before he steels himself and exits the car is from Taekwoon. _Hyung, Ravi-yah is right_ , it says. Wonshik had repeated a line that’s becoming more and more routine, lately: _Hyung, you worry too much_ , fast on the heels of Hongbin’s laughter and reminder that _hyung, just because you’re not the best at something doesn’t mean you aren’t still good at it._

(Sanghyuk and Jaehwan have been waging an emoji war in the background for a week. He should corral them, Hakyeon thinks offhand, or at least make them do it somewhere other than the group chat.)

Eunji is already on set when Hakyeon arrives, his stomach fluttering uncomfortably and his phone buzzing incessantly in his coat pocket. She hands him a bottle of water from a catering table.

"Isn't it a bit hot outside for that?" she laughs, gesturing to Hakyeon's bomber jacket. His breath picks up, a tiny increase in his heart rate corresponding exactly with an influx of self-consciousness. He shoves them both into their designated mental boxes and unscrews the cap from the water bottle, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary.

Hakyeon plasters on a smile. "Fashion," he replies primly, sipping at the water. It's cold, dripping condensation onto his fingers. It _is_ too hot outside.

 _Buzz, buzz_ , goes his phone. "When is makeup opening?" he asks over the lip of the bottle, and Eunji raises her eyebrows and shrugs.

"I was told they'd be ready 15 minutes ago. But you know how nothing in the arts—“

“—ever runs on time," Hakyeon agrees sagely. "At least it's consistent."

Eunji salutes Hakyeon with her own bottle of water, her posture straightening suddenly as she casts a glance over Hakyeon's shoulder.

Hakyeon hears Lee Wongeun approach before he sees him.

"My philosophy is that if everything runs 15 minutes late, I'm perfectly entitled to do the same," Wongeun's flippant tone greets them as he stops at Eunji's shoulder. "Catering? Fancy." Eunji opens her mouth to respond, but Wongeun cuts her off by reaching behind her to snag a handful of carrots, maneuvering a water bottle into the crook of his arm with an awkward shimmying motion.

Hakyeon's first impression of Wongeun outside of his talent in a reading room is that Wongeun is _tall._ Hakyeon has to look up to speak to him, the same way he looks up to Wonshik. Wongeun, though, is broad in a way Wonshik is not, dressed smartly and well-groomed for all his lackadaisical attitude toward punctuality.

The role of team leader, ingrained in Hakyeon's mind, wages a short battle with his desire for Lee Wongeun to _like_ him, since they'll be working together for the next couple of weeks. Order wins out, as it always does, and Hakyeon takes another bracing sip of water before using the bottle to gesture, pontificating, at Wongeun.

"It's a poor habit to get into," Hakyeon says, and clarifies, "Running late. Eventually you'll run late for your own wedding."

Wongeun laughs, startled, and shrugs, gracefully conceding the point. "I'll just have to avoid marriage, then," he shoots back good-naturedly. He stuffs one baby carrot into each side of his mouth and Hakyeon's eyebrows pinch together in tacit judgment. "Shouldn't be too hard, should it, Eunji?"

"Oppa," she grumbles, exasperated already at such an early hour. She has to look even further up than Hakyeon, and it brings a smile to Hakyeon's lips. "No one wants to marry someone they have to climb. Even with your... _charming_ personality."

"Wow, such acting chops! Hakyeon-ssi, you'll have to work hard to outdo this one. I have no idea when she's insulting me." Inelegant _crunch_ of the carrots being masticated. "Our number...is incomplete. Where are the others? Why are you only harassing me? It's..." Wongeun checks his phone. "...6:30 in the morning."

"I expect," Hakyeon responds sweetly, "that they're in the queue for makeup. The light went on right as you walked up, Wongeun-ssi." He smiles, saccharine, and bows shortly to Eunji and Wongeun before sidling past them.

"He's really something," Hakyeon hears Wongeun tell Eunji, incredulity in every word. Eunji's reply is faint with distance, but Wongeun's boyish laughter booms loud and clear.

***

The food truck Inyoung had brought with her, alongside her bright laughter and cheeky rapport with Wongeun, rumbles off into the sunset. As the sun sinks, the nine-to-five bustle of the set dulls to the low murmur of the night crew, and still Hakyeon is on location.

"Places!" calls an AFM off to Hakyeon's left, and he sets aside his steaming cup of tea and locks his phone mid-conversation with Hongbin. That, too, is left behind as Hakyeon drags himself out of his canvas chair and into the stage lights, harsh even as night sets in.

"Director's asked for one more take of this scene, then we all get the hell out of here," the AFM informs them, weary, brooking no argument and no delay.

Hakyeon's only actual _role_ in the scene is to stand there and look disparaging. He'd only just been talking to Hongbin about this—the sheer monotonous difficulty of being uninvolved. Without _engagement_ tethering him to consciousness, Hakyeon is running on fumes, worn down from take after take of holding the same expression as Jisoo and Wongeun have it out.

The director declares the take a wash, because Eunji, though she clings valiantly to Wongeun's broad shoulders, is visibly as exhausted as the rest of them. Hakyeon holds in his deep sigh, that particular act of self-restraint well-practiced after a week of this. Every time he films a new drama, he's amazed all over again at the tedium of stop-start-stop-start; he's grown accustomed to its skewed cousin in the music industry, but acting is a wholly different affair.

Hakyeon manages to confine his outward weariness to a pinch at the bridge of his nose as he trudges back to his chair to retrieve his coat and belongings. The tea is cold now, and Hakyeon considers it, swirling the cup appraisingly for a moment before wrinkling his nose in distaste and tossing it in the nearest trashcan. He shrugs on his coat—a longer topcoat today, the weather turning unexpectedly brisk—and slides his phone into the bag he'd brought to set, hoping in vain to get some classwork done between scenes.

"Hakyeon-ssi!" Wongeun's voice hails him as he turns to leave set. Hakyeon pauses his gait, and when he looks over his shoulder, Wongeun is jogging toward him. He slows to a halt next to Hakyeon and they fall into step toward the edge of set.

"Wongeun-ssi," Hakyeon acknowledges, scanning the parking lot for the Jellyfish company car.

Wongeun clears his throat. "You don't drink coffee?" Hakyeon hums his affirmation. "Yeah, I saw you didn't get anything from Inyoungie's truck. There's a 24-hour coffeeshop a couple blocks down that has decent tea, though." A beat. "Herbal, too. If you're not too tired, we could go grab a drink?"

The lift in Wongeun's voice makes it into a question, and Hakyeon doesn't bother to hold in his sigh this time. He _is_ too tired, a bone-deep longing washing over him with every step to be at home, showering and collapsing into bed between Hongbin and Taekwoon. When Hakyeon glances up at Wongeun, though, the same fatigue pinches at the corners of his eyes, and Wongeun doesn't have a Hongbin or a Taekwoon, and that pulls uncomfortably at something inside Hakyeon.

"Sure," Hakyeon agrees. "Let me tell my manager." A quick text, a confirmation in response, and Hakyeon's attention is brought to bear on Wongeun. "Lead the way," he murmurs with a light touch to Wongeun's elbow. “And call me 'hyung,' no one is around to think we're _friends_."

"I'd like to be friends with you," Wongeun confesses, but his eyes don't meet Hakyeon's as they start down the street. "Seems like you could use one, you know?"

It's a small mercy that Wongeun isn't looking at Hakyeon as his confusion displays plainly on his face. He schools his expression back into neutrality, asking, "How so?"

On the periphery of Hakyeon's vision, Wongeun shrugs. "People who aren't idols...we make a lot of assumptions about idols. Eunji's a pretty, smart girl, she's got it easy with the guys on set, but—" Wongeun pauses, considering. "Every time we cut, you're either on your phone or on your laptop." _Working_ , Wongeun doesn't say, leaving the implication hanging in the air. _Not talking to friends, not making friends_.

"We come back in three months," Hakyeon explains blithely. He follows Wongeun into the shop Wongeun points out, and they claim a booth looking out onto the street. "I'm the leader of VIXX. Of course I have things to do."

"Is that what you are?" Wongeun asks, and his eyes curve into a smile, twinkling over the top of his drink menu. Hakyeon huffs and picks up his own menu, hiding his face from Wongeun under the guise of perusing the tea selection. A kindly ahjumma bustles in to take their orders and Hakyeon points to one of the herbal teas, peach-flavored. Wongeun orders coffee, decaf in recognition of the late hour.

Without the menu to shield him, Hakyeon is bare to Wongeun's scrutiny, and it's oddly uneasy, in a way that Hakyeon hasn't been since he'd first had to prove himself as an idol. He feels as if Wongeun, with his wry smile and sparkling eyes, can see right through the reinforced layers of him. It's absurd. Wongeun has known Hakyeon for a week, and spoken to him only in passing.

"Well, what do you think I am?" Hakyeon retorts finally, lifting his chin pugnaciously to meet Wongeun's eyes.

It's a wasted gesture, because Wongeun's smile widens into something disarming, roguish and radiant. "Well, I don't know, do I?" he says, laughter teasing around the edges of his voice. "That's why I want to be friends with you."

  
***

**[2015: August]**

_why is there always someone screaming in the background of your voice memos?_ Hakyeon's phone reads, under the banner of "Message from Wongeunnie CheerUP~.” Today, it's Sanghyuk, drawling vowels berating Taekwoon for stealing Hongbin's cheat-day dessert. Hakyeon wonders briefly whether or not to intervene, judging after a moment that Taekwoon is both bigger and pricklier than Sanghyuk and can, in all likelihood, fend for himself.

He clicks "next episode" on the drama he's half-watching on his bed, focused more on the screaming from the dorm kitchen and typing out a reply to Wongeun. _"Yah, hyung, Hongbin-hyung never eats desserts! And you only finish them when they're not yours!"_

Sanghyuk has been especially crabby lately. Hakyeon chalks it up to puberty with the vague, handwaving wisdom of an older sibling.

 _They expel their excess talent from their lungs,_ Hakyeon replies. W _e have a lot of talent to go around,_ he hedges in a second message, and it's a testament to how much time they've spent together, on set, getting tea, eating out, that he can vividly see Wongeun's unconvinced expression in his mind's eye.

It's corroborated moments later by a picture of Wongeun's face, close up on his raised eyebrow. Hakyeon automatically sends a link to the music video Wonshik and Taekwoon have recently released as proof of their talent, screaming notwithstanding. He doesn't watch the video all the way through; he's seen it so many times that he could probably direct a low-budget version of it right here in his bedroom.

Perhaps that would distract Sanghyuk. He considers the amount of effort it would take to drag Sanghyuk away from Taekwoon and nixes the idea almost immediately.

The conversation between Hakyeon and Wongeun falls silent for a few minutes, and Hakyeon returns to his drama. He's almost managed to pick up the lost threads of the plot when two things break his concentration at once: a sharp shriek from Taekwoon, and the vibration of Hakyeon's phone against his chest.

Again, Hakyeon holds a brief internal debate as to which deserves his attention.

The clamor from the dorm proper goes suspiciously quiet.

Hakyeon sighs and picks up his phone.

 _it's good_ , Wongeun has responded. _you're not in it_.

 _It's good because i'm not in it?_ Hakyeon taunts, and Wongeun is already typing by the time Hakyeon has sent it.

_you made me watch an hour's worth of fancams of yourself hyung_

Hakyeon smiles at his phone, his drama entirely forgotten. He _had._ And Wongeun had sat patiently through every video as Hakyeon chopped vegetables on the other end of the Skype call for Taekwoon to put in the night's dinner.

 _What was it you said?_ Hakyeon searches his memory for the exact words. _You make assumptions about idols._

 _not anymore,_ Wongeun admits after a minute of radio silence. _and i definitely don't make assumptions about you, cha hakyeon._

A percussive wave of sound hits through the thin wall connecting Hakyeon's room to Jaehwan's, courtesy of the musical score Jaehwan has recently received. It makes Hakyeon's attempt at recording a voice message to Wongeun much more difficult than intended.

Still, he sits up enough that it won't be obvious from his tone that he's mooching around his bedroom and hits 'record.' " _Cheer Up_ will be airing soon. We should watch it together." Wongeun has asked him to so many restaurants and coffeeshops, boutiques where he watched Hakyeon poke around, hemming and hawing over whether or not he'd buy some trinket for a member, before rolling his eyes and pulling out his debit card.

(Taekwoon's newest scarf came into his possession under the power of Wongeun's generosity. Hakyeon had bought Wongeun a boba tea in thanks.)

 _maybe a tv-bang instead of your place_ , Wongeun accepts, and something loosens, relieved, in Hakyeon's chest. He hadn't even felt the tension. _is that one night in bangkok?_

Hakyeon presses his lips together and listens more attentively to Jaehwan's dulcet tones.

 _Yes_ , he concludes. _It is One Night in Bangkok._

***

**[2015: October]**

"I've heard that the upper limit of what we can count at sight is seven," Hakyeon muses as the door shuts and the bustle of the TV-bang is shut out, leaving him alone with Wongeun and a television as wide as Hakyeon's mother is tall. "That means there are probably more than seven bottles on that table."

"These five are water," Wongeun points out, sinking onto the couch and flipping channels until he hits KBS2. He pats the cushion beside him and Hakyeon blinks down at it, then at the soju bottles arranged in a neat ten-pin. "What time is it?"

"Twelve 'til," Hakyeon says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. Wongeun pats the cushion again, more insistent now, and Hakyeon rolls his eyes and sits neatly, crossing his legs at the ankle. Wongeun gives him an amused look and sets about plucking two shot glasses from the stacks on a lower shelf of the coffee table. One plunks down in front of himself, one in front of Hakyeon, and by the time _The Stars Are Shining_ goes to commercial, Wongeun has broken out the first bottle of soju.

"I always drink when I watch myself on TV," Wongeun explains, knocking back the first glass and pouring a second. "It saves my friends the trouble of coming up with a drinking game."

Hakyeon strokes the rim of his shot glass with a fingertip and wonders how many times Wongeun has had to watch himself on TV. The question is on his lips—typical shop talk about their careers, a safe bet—but what comes out is, "Why not watch this one with your friends?"

Wongeun gives Hakyeon a long glance, top to bottom, then back up. He raises an eyebrow. Smiles. Nudges Hakyeon's shot glass a bit closer to him.

"Hakyeon-hyung. How many times have we been out in the last two months?" Before Hakyeon can come up with a tally—the upper limit of what he can count at sight is seven, after all—Wongeun cuts him off mid-thought. "I want to watch this one with you, that's why I accepted the invitation. And if you don't want that soju, give it here. Show's about to start."

Hakyeon pouts at Wongeun, who smiles sunnily back at him, and knocks back the shot. It's smooth on the way down, and when he time he hears the opening theme of _Cheer Up_ , he's sipping at another, sagging back into the couch cushions with an unbearable, unspeakable smugness curling in his chest. Wongeun is _here_. He could be anywhere else, but he's _here_ , grimacing at his own voice on broadcast and swigging soju as he extols Eunji's virtues.

They're _friends_.

Where Hakyeon watches unspeaking, with the same studied concentration he gives to performance monitoring, Wongeun is full of comments. He reacts to the editing and direction and line delivery with his entire body, face and arms and legs all engaged. Hakyeon drinks and pays half his mind to Eunji and Wongeun on the screen, but the other half to Wongeun, next to him, occasionally directing a questioning comment to Hakyeon.

Eunji goes into a gym, and there's Hakyeon playing basketball, and _here_ is Wongeun's voice laughing, "Oh, _you!_ It's you, hyung!"

"I look darker on camera," Hakyeon observes distractedly, and Wongeun's gaze fixes on him.

"What?" Hakyeon asks when Wongeun's stare doesn't break, leaning away from where he's started to pour more soju for himself.

"I don't think I ever really noticed," Wongeun admits with a shrug. "I guess it matters more when you have to be gorgeous professionally."

Hakyeon bristles. "I do lots of other things professionally, too—"

"Yes, and you're very good at all of them, I know," Wongeun placates, waving his shot glass with the air of someone who's heard it one too many times. "I didn't take VIXX's N out for coffee, though. Or anywhere else, really."

Hakyeon thinks back to recording last week, the six lines he'd sung over and over in the booth, and how he'd wondered the entire afternoon if he'd be able to dance well enough to make up for lost vocal time.

Here's Wongeun, and Wongeun doesn't _care_ , not in the all-encompassing, time-consuming way Hakyeon has to. Hakyeon could appear for a total of five seconds in the video for _Chained Up_ , and Wongeun would say something flippant about collars and tell Hakyeon he sounded nice, the song was catchy. Which one of those guys is the one screaming now?

"I don't even really like to play basketball," Hakyeon manages after a long moment, past the confused tangle of his thoughts. "Hongbin likes to play basketball."

"You like to dance," Wongeun agrees. "And steal erotica."

"That was _one time_ and Wonshik didn't even notice—" Hakyeon pauses, panicked, because _what if—_

Wongeun's laugh startles Hakyeon every time, boyish and delighted. "I didn't tattle on you, Cha Hakyeon. I don't even have his number." Hakyeon pouts again, and Wongeun's laughter bubbles out even louder, and it _must_ be the soju warming Hakyeon through, because the room is suddenly a degree and a half hotter than it has any right to be. He doesn't point it out to Wongeun, because Wongeun seems fine.

The episode is winding down, and there are four open bottles on the table. Hakyeon is thinking about Wonshik's copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey._ He read three pages of it and decided that confiscating it would raise more questions than it was worth.

As Wongeun steadies Hakyeon on his feet, turns off the television, and guides Hakyeon out to the parking lot where his manager is waiting already, Hakyeon is thinking about the weight of Wongeun's hand at the small of his back and Wongeun's cheery voice asking, "Same time tomorrow, yeah?"

As his manager drives him home, Hakyeon is thinking about kissing Minhyuk against the outside of Eunkwang's bedroom door, the furtive rush of his heart as he waited for Minhyuk to push him away, only to jolt back in terror as Eunkwang opened the door. Eunkwang's bright peals of cackling laughter as he said, "None for me, Hakyeonnie?"

And as Hakyeon's back hits the closed door of the VIXX dorm and his knees buckle just a bit, his face falls into his palms. He thinks about Wongeun's infectious smile, imagines it pressed hard to his lips, his neck, and shame races hot down his spine, a fiery current of _God, what am I doing?_

"Hyung," Hongbin's cautious voice calls sleepily from the hallway. Hakyeon gasps, stands up straight, sways maybe just a little on the spot. "Everything alright? We texted, but you never responded."

"Fine, yeah, sorry. I lost track of time." Add that to the swirling miasma of his thoughts, then. "Go to bed, Hongbinnie. I'll be there soon."

"Don't smell like booze when you come to bed," Hongbin mumbles, padding back off the way he came, bare feet whispering across the floor. 

Shower, Hakyeon's mind pushes to the forefront. Water. Function now. Flagellation later.

He trudges toward the bathroom with a water bottle in his hand.  
  
  
***

**[2015: November]**

Amid all the chaos of comeback rehearsals, the hair dye and aching muscles and hunger, Hakyeon's scheduled viewing party-of-two with Wongeun is a fixed point. Mondays and Tuesdays, 10 p.m. finds him in a TV-bang, taking shot after shot of soju, hoping that if his mind teeters far enough off-axis, he'll forget the strong line of Wongeun's jaw, the nearly-closed squint of his eyes when he smiles.

Instead, what Hakyeon receives is anxiety. With every message, every video call, every nervous skid of his heartbeat, he lifts his eyes and looks around, sending up lip-service prayers that no one _notices_. He feels joy and anticipation and dread in a continual cycle, set off by the buzz of his phone in the bustle of Jellyfish headquarters.

Over all of it, rising unbidden on Hakyeon's laundry list of hobbies, there's Wongeun. Their time spent together has shifted, in these months, from stilted to casual to an easy comfort. Dangerous territory, Hakyeon thinks darkly as he's ferried to the TV-bang. Rigged with a thousand traps for Hakyeon's heart, a new and different way to become attached appearing with every one avoided. Hakyeon is an idol. Hakyeon is married to his career, and—

 _I didn't take VIXX'S N out for coffee_ , Wongeun's voice murmurs in his mind, and Hakyeon braces himself, girds his heart with the practiced lines of his PR training, and clambers free of the company car.

He greets Wongeun with a handshake and a hug and grasps at this moment with his mind, Wongeun's clean scent and the way he fits against Hakyeon, wrapping him up so he sees nothing beyond Wongeun's broad shoulders.

Brief, gone too soon, and as Hakyeon pulls back, he notices the table. Not soju tonight, but tea. He recognizes the colored tabs on each bag from the coffeeshop they'd attended while filming, next to a steaming electric kettle. Hakyeon raises his eyebrows as Wongeun sits, with the same heavy _whump_ from the couch as always and the same determined channel-flipping. 

"What's this?" Hakyeon asks, gesturing to the spread before them with one hand as he plucks the remote from Wongeun, landing them on the Home Shopping Channel until 10 p.m., to Wongeun's obvious exasperation.

Resigned to his fate, Wongeun sets about making two cups of tea, herbal for Hakyeon, green for himself. "You prefer tea," Wongeun says, and Hakyeon may be indulging himself too much, into too far a flight of fancy, but he thinks he hears an unaccustomed tightness in Wongeun's voice. "Your song drops on the tenth?" Hakyeon hums in affirmation, taking the steaming mug proffered by Wongeun. "So you probably won't be here next week. Thought you'd appreciate..."

Wongeun trails off, and Hakyeon's heart strains with the effort of refusing to fill in the rest of the sentence. He smiles hollowly in Wongeun's direction and occupies himself with flipping back to KBS2.

"I do," he murmurs into his mug as steam hits his face. "Thank you, Wongeunnie. I'm...very grateful." Wongeun's answering smile doesn't make his eyes squint nearly-closed.

Hakyeon is saved from attempting idle conversation by the gentle opening notes of the _Cheer Up_ theme song.

In the soft lighting of the TV-bang, as Wongeun keeps up his running commentary of the episode, Hakyeon is free to watch him. He sips at his tea, burns his tongue in his haste, and studies Wongeun over the edge of the mug. Once he's had his fill, he tells himself. Once he's had just enough, he can let go.

The effect of having tea rather than soju, it turns out, is that the hour evaporates all the more quickly. Hakyeon pours a second cup of tea, and as he raises it to his lips, the end credits roll. Wongeun's voice gives way to silence, lying heavy and still over them, a blanket of fresh snow.

"You won't be here next week?" Wongeun finally asks, brusque.

"No," Hakyeon replies. The mug is too hot in his hands, close to scalding him. He's misjudged the temperature of the water. He clings to it, tugging his careful preparations around himself with the heat of the mug as a focus. "We'll be up all night working. I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize for doing your job," Wongeun chastises wryly.

Another tense silence. Finally, they break it at the same time.

"I'll miss you," Wongeun says, and Hakyeon says, "We shouldn't see—"

Hakyeon sees the _Why?_ forming on Wongeun's lips, in his eyes and the sudden softness to his posture, and bullet points trip over themselves to race to the front of his mind, reasons upon reasons for Hakyeon to cut his losses with the one man he's called _friend_ since Minhyuk.

He sees the question on Wongeun's lips, and he lunges across the space between them to catch it with his own.  
  
Wongeun's kiss tastes like the floral herbs of his green tea and his lips are full where they meet Hakyeon's, and Wongeun makes a startled noise, and Hakyeon pulls away. His eyes fall to Wongeun's lips—he'd _kissed them._  He expects Wongeun's hands pushing him away, disgust written across his face.

What he gets instead, this time, is Wongeun's shuddery breath murmuring, "Oh, thank God," as he drops one hand at the nape of Hakyeon's neck and licks his way into Hakyeon's mouth with a sigh.

"You taste like lavender," Hakyeon whispers into the scant distance where their lips part, and Wongeun's smile comes back, that _smile_ , and now Hakyeon _knows_ what it's like to have that smile pressed against his lips, and he doesn't think he _can_. He has to leave. He has to—

—take another kiss, deeper, because now Hakyeon has this to grasp at, too, the quiet sounds that Wongeun makes to guide Hakyeon, the firm grip of Wongeun's hand at his jaw.Hakyeon hears himself in a haze, hears the broken, needy noises Wongeun pulls from him. Wongeun tastes like lavender, but now it's mingled with the peach-sweet and citrus of Hakyeon's own mouth, and Hakyeon's knees are digging into the couch on either side of Wongeun's waist, his arms around Wongeun's shoulders, because he needs Wongeun to be closer, _closer—_

"I," Hakyeon gasps, reeling back, scrambling to his feet, his lips swollen, his skin alight with the electricity of Wongeun's hands. "I _can't,_ " Hakyeon sobs out, breathless, banding his arms around his own waist. He fortifies himself for a barrage of questions and cutting remarks, but they never come.

Wongeun's arms wrap around Hakyeon's shoulders, gingerly, not sure if he's allowed this freedom. Hakyeon pushes his face against Wongeun's t-shirt and feels the steady beat of Wongeun's heart against his cheek.

When Hakyeon doesn't immediately extricate himself from the hug, Wongeun's hand rubs a line from shoulder to shoulder, safe and platonic. "You know," he begins, a note of fond exasperation in his voice, "I'm still your friend. You know that."Hakyeon _hadn't_ known, but the reassurance in Wongeun's voice is too good to dismiss. He secrets it away with the rest of Wongeun, somewhere in his mind that no industry CEO can touch, and pulls away.

He's cold all over, suddenly, and he rushes back in to fit himself against Wongeun's chest. Wongeun's arms gather him up again obligingly, chasing out the chill, and Hakyeon's lips brush warm cotton when he speaks.

"Manager-hyung will be waiting for me outside." There's nowhere he wants to be _less_ than the long, freezing journey between Wongeun's arms and the arms of his members, drawing him into bed. Something of his thoughts must make their way into his body, because Wongeun's arms tighten securely before releasing him.

"Go on, then," Wongeun says, the teasing note back where it hasn't been all evening. "I'll be around. I'm getting better at guessing their voices."

Hakyeon sleeps between Taekwoon and Jaehwan tonight, and Hongbin's arm reaches around Taekwoon to clutch, unconscious, at the sleeve of Hakyeon's pajama top. Hakyeon brushes his lips across Hongbin's grasping fingertips, and Hongbin makes a mumbly, satisfied noise and subsides.

***

**[2015: December]**

It's tipping over into Christmas Eve, slowly but surely, and the first of his gifts is silence, blessed silence, broken only by the crackle of Hongbin's speakerphone. Hakyeon massages his throbbing temples with one hand and attempts to relax his jaw far enough not to give himself a headache. His other hand strokes long, lazy lines down Taekwoon's spine as Taekwoon moans pitifully into Hakyeon's chest.

Whatever half-cocked facade of sobriety they'd maintained for filming had evanesced as soon as they tripped across the threshold of their dorm. Jaehwan left a trail of garish red Santa costume pieces to where he plopped himself down on the kitchen counter and hauled Wonshik into a truly appalling rendition of the Cleopatra game.

Hongbin, muttering seditiously about being _too goddamned drunk for your shit on Christmas_ , had bodily lobbed the mallet from a Buddhist singing bowl at Jaehwan's head. His aim was good, but not quite good enough, and it had struck Jaehwan's side instead. Not that it mattered. The screaming had a _target_ , now, and Jaehwan's voice lifted, ever sharper and more insistent, until Wonshik shoved a tree-shaped cookie into Jaehwan's mouth. Jaehwan had then been herded toward his bedroom by a cooing Wonshik, and Hakyeon, already pinned under Taekwoon's weight on the couch, sent Sanghyuk after them to run damage control.

And now Hongbin's sitting on the floor, his grandmother's smoky voice rolling out of his phone's speakers, dulled by static. Hakyeon has always loved her voice, though. Taekwoon makes a sleepy noise and Hakyeon pushes his Taekwoon-hand into Taekwoon's sweaty hair.

"...gave you the bowl in the first place to help you on the middle path," Hongbin's grandmother is saying, stemming Hongbin's frantic apologies. "Sometimes too much stupidity in the world makes you want to stray. Chucking it at 'em to make 'em stop...just as good a way as any other. They're sturdy. You didn't do any harm to 'em." She pauses. "You've got a good arm."

"He'll have a bruise for sure," Hongbin agrees, and Hakyeon tunes him out, resolving to close his eyes just for a moment.

When he opens his eyes, Taekwoon is gone, but Hongbin is still here, his sleeping face smushed against the coffee table, his phone still lying in front of him. Hakyeon's back protests stiffly as he sits up, pulling his own phone from his pocket to check the time. 2:30 in the morning and a message from Wongeunnie CheerUP~, timestamped during their earlier filming, glare back at him, and he sighs before replacing his phone in his pocket.

He pats Hongbin's sleep-swollen cheek with a clumsy hand. "Hongbin-ah," he whispers into the silence. "Hongbinnie. Hongbin-ah, wake up."

Hongbin stirs, and Hakyeon kneels next to him, their faces close. "Hongbin-ah, it's very late. You should go sleep in your bed."

"Mmmmyou?" Hongbin mumbles back, incoherent, shaking his limbs out awkwardly as he stumbles to his feet.

"I'll be there soon," Hakyeon promises. He wants to wash his face and shower off Taekwoon's sweat.

Hongbin lets out a put-upon sigh, his heavy breath loud in the still air. "Y'say that a lot lately," he mumbles, still not fully awake, but lurches off toward his bedroom nonetheless.

Hakyeon showers, brushes his teeth, and begins the arduous process of washing his face. Sometime between essence and eye cream, he remembers to check his message from Wongeun. A tiny bubble of guilt bursts in his heart when the timestamp remains unchanged, reminding him damningly that Wongeun had asked him to a New Year's dinner hours ago and he'd never replied.

 _I'm sorry for the late reply_ , Hakyeon begins to type, but deletes it before he’s even finished. _There was a lot of soju to work through,_ he sends instead, on the heels of his daily schedule update. _Why even ask? Of course I want to eat with you. We’ll be back from performing probably 10pm. When and where?_

Satisfied, Hakyeon finishes his skincare routine, counting backwards to the last time he'd seen Wongeun in person. He loses tracks of the exact number in late November, distracted by the memory of his own selfishness.

Wongeun hasn't mentioned the kiss since he watched Hakyeon leave the TV-bang, shocked and off-balance. Hakyeon keenly recalls the desperation of it, the hot rush of having something just for himself, and he's given it a dusty compartment in the attic of his mind. Late nights, he tells himself. Stress and sleeplessness, and Wongeun representing something _other,_ something outside the world of stage lights and fansites.

It's been a month and a half, and every conversation has been casual, friendly, safe. Hakyeon doesn't want to kiss Wongeun, and he never really _has_ wanted to. Hakyeon wants a lot—success, money, nice clothes—but it's all tied up in VIXX, the six of them one island in the tempestuous sea of idolness.

Hakyeon doesn't _want_ for himself. Hakyeon wants for _us_ , and he's a sixth-part of _us._

Wongeun isn't for _us_. Wongeun is for Cha Hakyeon, and Cha Hakyeon doesn't want.

***

Hakyeon gets to the restaurant first, a winery this time, and he snags a table and asks for a glass of water while he waits. Yes, Lee, party of two. The other person is running a bit behind.

He pulls out his phone and checks his messages. There's a selfie from Wonshik, squished into frame between a grinning Taemin and Jongin, one clinging to each of Wonshik's arms. Taemin has snow in his hair.

 _Very cute, wonshikkie~_ Hakyeon replies. _Pick one of them and tell them I said their hair looks nice_. He'd all but banned Wonshik from returning to the dorm, citing the fact that everyone else would be out celebrating the new year with their friends, and Wonshik had friends, and Wonshik should _call_ those friends and go do whatever it was that Taemin and Kim Kai got up to when they were allowed to be in grabbing distance of one another.

 _"And you, hyung?"_ Wonshik had asked, and Hakyeon had given him a diffident smile and nodded. Yes, Hakyeon, too, would be out with a friend. Cue Sanghyuk's elbow in Hakyeon's ribs and his lighthearted, _"You have friends, hyung?"_

Hakyeon looks around the restaurant, eyes slipping over tables and walkways, and spots Wongeun explaining to the maître d' that he's meeting someone. As Wongeun wends his way toward Hakyeon, Hakyeon's phone begins buzzing violently in his hand with a flood of incoming messages.

 _JIN IS HERE,_ from Jaehwan. Then _JIN IS HERE,_ from Sanghyuk, and then from Hongbin and Taekwoon.

From Taekwoon, though, they _keep coming_.

Buzz. _JIN IS HERE_

Buzz. _JIN IS HE RE_

Buzz. _JIN IS H ERE_

Buzz. _JIN IS HE RE_

Buzz. _JIN IS HE RE_

Hakyeon cottons on to the game before Wongeun even makes it across the restaurant. _Give taekwoonie his phone back, seokjin-ah,_ he orders, and as Wongeun sits across from Hakyeon, his phone lights up with _bts jinis pa y ing for all the booze °_ ˖✧ㅇㅅㅇ _°_ ✧˖ _°_

"Trouble in paradise?" Wongeun asks, picking up his menu, and Hakyeon swivels his wrist so Wongeun can see. Wongeun chuckles to himself and Hakyeon rolls his eyes, silencing his phone and putting it away. "Are they all out, then?"

"Mmm. Bottle of pinot noir?"

"Whatever you want." Hakyeon points out a pinot noir to the sommelier, and an entree to the waiter, and Wongeun does the same across from him. Their menus are whisked away, and the full impact of Wongeun's gaze is on Hakyeon. 

Hakyeon takes a distressed gulp of his water and clears his throat. "Wonshik took some convincing. He wanted to make sure I was going out before he'd leave." It's unfair, how little justice is done to Wongeun over video calls and text messages. Hakyeon has forgotten how he has to look _up_ at Wongeun, even sitting, and the fine details of Wongeun's face. Creases at the corners of his eyes, full cheeks belying a strong jaw. Hakyeon finds himself pausing to drink it in, head tilted to the side, contemplative.

"Who'd you send him out with?" Wongeun's voice cuts through his reverie, and Hakyeon snaps to attention.

"Oh, Wonshikkie only has two friends. Taemin and Kai." Wongeun's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up before he seizes control of his expression. Hakyeon hides a giggle behind his hand. "Some of the things about idols are right. We do all...seem to know each other."

"I have a feeling that I could be invited to all the same events as you, and we'd still somehow manage to have completely different circles," Wongeun rejoins, to a shrug from Hakyeon. He feels himself beaming at Wongeun, a smile wide enough to ache.

"That may be true," Hakyeon simpers, and the conversation lulls as their food and wine arrives.

Hakyeon's had this particular wine before, and it's more boldly tart than he remembers. As a result, he drinks far too much of his first glass in a single draft, launching into a coughing fit as Wongeun laughs across the table.

"Every time you drink, you tell me you can't drink," Wongeun manages between flurries of laughter. "And every time, you manage to prove it in a new way. Should I be worried?"

Hakyeon, still coughing, considers the merits of diving across the table to discipline his unruly dinner date and concludes that one doesn't normally do such things in polite company. "I should have gone out with Wonshik," he mutters darkly, and Wongeun chuckles again and lifts a mock toast to Hakyeon.

"Your continued excellent health and piss-poor drinking," Wongeun quips, and Hakyeon laughs into his next, slower drink despite himself. "May you prove it to me over and over."

Hakyeon finishes his glass and digs into his dinner with enough enthusiasm to conceal the sudden flush of his cheeks. "You don't drink any better than I do," Hakyeon complains to a pile of vegetables.

"Yes, but I'm better at hiding it." He pours Hakyeon another glass, then himself, and they eat in silence for a while. Wongeun's face displays only tickled anticipation when Hakyeon looks up to take another drink of wine—he's waiting for Hakyeon to make a public embarrassment of himself again, no doubt—and Hakyeon does something with his own face that approximates the effect of sticking out his tongue. "Careful, you'll get stuck like that." Lilting, diverted. Hakyeon twists his lips against losing out to another smile of his own.

"I missed you," he says, and he must have had more wine than he's realized, syrupy affection soaking into his tone. Wongeun takes the check as it's handed to him and pays before Hakyeon has a chance to extract his wallet.

"I missed you," Wongeun shoots back, resting his chin on one hand, lifting an eyebrow faintly at Hakyeon. "I told you I would."

It's the first time either of them have acknowledged the last time they saw one another in person, and Hakyeon, with every drop of his two and a half glasses of wine running in his veins, with Wongeun's eyes warm on him, takes mental stock of himself. He considers his own loneliness, the peculiar bereavement of leaving Wongeun behind for comeback, and the meticulously-ordered compartmentalization that's kept it at bay, content with texts and Kakao calls.

"I believe you," Hakyeon admits, and allows himself to be led from the restaurant, snapping a quick photo of them on the way out. "Where to, now? My whole night is free. It's only...11:15.”

Wongeun hails a taxi and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. "I'm going to go home and watch the fireworks. One of my friends sent me champagne. You're welcome to come with me."

"Why even ask," Hakyeon echoes his earlier words, heat high in his cheeks, defying the crisp winter air, "when you know I'll say yes?" He climbs into the taxi beside Wongeun and—the wine, the cold, nerves, _something—_ his heart pounds painfully in his chest.

***

**[2016: January]**

Wongeun's apartment is on the fifteenth floor, and unlike the elevator in VIXX's building, Wongeun's elevator reliably works. They take off their shoes at the door and Wongeun's hand falls onto Hakyeon's shoulder as he says, "Just put your coat anywhere." A beat, Wongeun's eyes raking down Hakyeon's body, likely gauging price, and he amends, "Or there's a coat closet in the hallway, and I'll take your coat. Like a good host."

"You don't have to," Hakyeon replies in a rush, shrugging off his topcoat. "I can find my way."

"It's just past the sofa," Wongeun explains. "I'll...figure out the champagne."

 _Figure out the champagne_ , Hakyeon wonders, hanging his coat in Wongeun's closet, and his questions are answered when he returns to see Wongeun hovering over his kitchen counter, an unopened bottle of champagne before him, his phone in hand.

"Do _you_ know how to open champagne?" Wongeun asks, glancing up. Hakyeon laughs, caught off guard, and confesses that no, he doesn't. "Siri, how do I open a bottle of champagne."

Siri tells them to drape a towel over it and twist the bottom, and by unanimous vote Wongeun is elected to do the honors. Hakyeon stands back, watches Wongeun lever the cork free, and waits for things to go horribly awry, because he's lived with Lee Jaehwan long enough to know that anything can become a projectile if you really believe in it.

There's an anticlimactic _pop_ and a triumphant " _ha!_ " from Wongeun, and Hakyeon edges closer. Wongeun produces champagne flutes from a gift bag on the counter and bites his lips in concentration as he pours, trying not to overflow.

"I think...that went much better than it could have," Hakyeon sighs as he accepts his glass from Wongeun. The clock on the microwave shows 11:45 p.m. "Should we turn on the pre-show?"

"You mean the Home Shopping Channel?" Wongeun taps his glass to Hakyeon's and takes a slow swallow. Hakyeon makes a little indignant noise but raises his own glass, froth tingling on his lips.

"I watch other things," Hakyeon protests, and Wongeun gives him a knowing look.

"Year-old dramas are not _other things._ "

"I'm busy! I don't have time to—"

"Excuses," Wongeun butts in, tilting his glass toward Hakyeon. "I watch your videos."

"You watch my videos _once._ " Hakyeon puts as much righteous condemnation into his tone as he can. Wongeun's expression shifts, quarrelsome, as he leans a hip against the counter.

"And exactly how many times do you watch dramas?"

Hakyeon has no good answer for that, and concedes defeat with all his customary grace. Or lack thereof. Whichever allows him the license to narrow his eyes at Wongeun's retreating back as Wongeun goes to turn on the television. A commentator is telling them about the year-end shows. Hakyeon feels ghost-stickiness on his face from sweat and stage makeup.

It's 11:55 p.m. when Wongeun tops them both up, and the commentators have switched to vocal anticipation of the fireworks. Last year's were spectacular, and this year's are sure to be even more so. Hakyeon could have stayed behind at the Gayo Daejejeon afterparty, been seen watching the fireworks, but he rushed away to a crowded winery with Wongeun. His phone hangs, silent and abandoned, in Wongeun's coat closet.

"God, I've missed you." Hakyeon's voice comes out steadier than he'd dared to hope. Wongeun, back to leaning against the counter next to Hakyeon, looks down at Hakyeon out of the corner of his eye.

"I know."

"I'm not sorry," Hakyeon murmurs, and lets the reason go unnamed, hanging between them. 11:57 p.m. Hakyeon places his champagne flute down on the counter. "I—it's selfish of me," he admits, and now his voice is quiet, timid. Fear of rejection courses through him, reducing the year-end festivities to a dull buzz as he moves to stand in front of Wongeun, touches Wongeun's shoulder, and finally, _finally_ meets Wongeun's eyes.

Nothing there but compassion, joined with the same fear that's making Hakyeon's knees weak. Wongeun's lips press together, his eyebrows lift, waiting for Hakyeon to speak. "It's so selfish of me." Guilt, now, twining itself lethally with his racing heart, choking him, his next words near impossible, but he lifts himself onto his toes and breathes them out against Wongeun's lips.

"But _God_ , if it's selfish of me to have you, I want to be _so selfish_ , Wongeun."

Wongeun's glass hits the counter with an untidy clatter as they crash together, Wongeun's arms clutching Hakyeon to himself as they kiss, Hakyeon straining up on his toes and Wongeun bending down, enfolding him. Hakyeon's hands claw at Wongeun's chest, his shoulders, setting at his neck, dragging Wongeun closer, chasing out the shame and guilt and fear with the wet heat of Wongeun's mouth against his, the taste of his skin as Hakyeon kisses his chin, his jaw, his neck.

Wongeun buries his face in Hakyeon's hair and Hakyeon slows his lips under Wongeun's ear, closing his eyes and letting his head fall onto Wongeun's shoulder. He winds his arms around Wongeun's back, hugging him fiercely, his breath coming in harsh pants.

"Thank you," Wongeun whispers into Hakyeon's hair, and Hakyeon holds on to Wongeun and shakes.

In the living room, the commentators are announcing the next rookie act to perform.

"We missed the fireworks," Hakyeon laughs, breathy and elated, and Wongeun's head lifts to check the time.

"We did," he concurs wryly. "I can't say I regret it much."

It's half-past midnight, on the first day of the new year, when Hakyeon's slacks hit the floor of Wongeun's bedroom.

***

**[2016: May]**

Wongeun's fingers snag a lock of Hakyeon's hair and he leans in, examining it closely, an ersatz detective. "The purple was pretty. How would it have done with lake water, though?"

"Poorly," Hakyeon admits grudgingly. "I told them it's Sanghyuk's turn next time. He's just _good-looking_. It doesn't matter what color they give him." They returned to the flower shop on the drive back to Wongeun's apartment, and Hakyeon has a small bundle of deep-purple calla lilies to show for it. Wongeun's apartment will be their home until they fade, living out a humble life alongside the rest of Wongeun's flower arrangements.

Wongeun's hand drops to Hakyeon's hip as soon as the door is safely shut, and Hakyeon tips his face up to be thoroughly kissed. Wongeun's lips are chapped from too much sun and not enough water. Hakyeon is sure his are no better, and when Wongeun pulls back, relieving Hakyeon of the flowers, he says, "You smell like a lake."

"So do you!" Hakyeon shouts after Wongeun, who's moved into the kitchen. Hakyeon follows hot on his heels with single-minded determination. "Yah, Wongeun." Hakyeon plasters himself against Wongeun's back as Wongeun busies himself snipping stems and judging vase sizes. "Shower with me. Wongeun. Shower with me. You smell like wet dog."

"Patience isn't your strong suit, Cha Hakyeon," Wongeun admonishes, but turns his head to meet Hakyeon's questing lips. "Don't you want to eat something first?"

Hakyeon's lips curl into a lewd smile and Wongeun sighs. " _Aish_ , fine, shower first. But you have to make the food after."

"By that, you mean I order the takeout," Hakyeon corrects, and Wongeun finishes poking at the lilies and moves to kiss Hakyeon for real. Hakyeon is warm all over, sluggish and content from their full day in the sun, and he purrs eagerly around Wongeun's tongue. Wongeun's hands drop to frame his waist and Hakyeon sways his hips forward in a suggestive roll.

Their kiss, lush and slow, is just as slow to end, and Wongeun brushes his mouth across Hakyeon's cheekbones, his forehead. "Thai food." Quick kiss to the lips to silence Hakyeon's protests. "You can ask them to make it _not spicy_. You do this every time."

"You ask for Thai food every time," Hakyeon whines, which isn't technically true, or even half-true, but it's true enough for him right now. Wongeun just raises an eyebrow, and he doesn't say anything, but Hakyeon hears, clear as day, _I'm going to let you suck me off in the shower, so you'll order me green curry_.

(They'd made an executive decision not to order food _before_ showering after the last time, when they'd missed the delivery person because Hakyeon—famed for, among other things, getting his way—had begged Wongeun to fuck him against the shower wall, heedless of the timer counting down the fifteen minutes until delivery.)

Wongeun washes Hakyeon's hair, and Hakyeon groans at the unknotted tension that drops away with each press of Wongeun's fingertips against his scalp. He leans his head back onto Wongeun's shoulder and smiles beatifically up at Wongeun, who says, "If you ever want the shampoo out of your hair, you have to stand up," but wraps his sudsy arms around Hakyeon's stomach anyway.

Hakyeon rinses his hair and slouches back against the shower wall, getting a good, thorough look in at Wongeun's naked body as Wongeun cleans himself. Hakyeon wrests the shampoo bottle from Wongeun when he goes to wash his hair and reaches up to return the favor.

"Where's Inna?" he murmurs, tilting Wongeun's face back with two fingers under his chin. There's been a distinct lack of Wongeun's foster puppy constantly underfoot, and Hakyeon notices it now, when no claws scrabble at the bathroom door.

"Mmm, my sister flew in on her UFO and abducted her," Wongeun answers, relaxing under Hakyeon's hands. “Inna likes Haewon's cat."

"Does Haewon's cat like Inna?" Hakyeon asks in return, amused at the thought of the excitable ball of fur zipping around an apathetic tabby.

Wongeun ducks under the shower to rinse his hair at Hakyeon's behest. "I think Haewon's cat needs the exercise." He flips his hair out of his face and guides Hakyeon in for another round of languid, sultry kisses. Hakyeon's toes curl against the shower floor, and he reluctantly opens his eyes when Wongeun pulls away. "All clean," Wongeun exclaims cheerily. "Time to get out." His eyes sparkle with mischief, and he laughs when Hakyeon surges forward to pin him roughly against the shower wall.

"Uh-uh," Hakyeon chides, licking over the smile on Wongeun's lips. "It's my day off from dieting. I get to have dessert before dinner."

"That's an awful line," Wongeun chuckles, and Hakyeon laughs with him, and somewhere in the midst of all of it Hakyeon's knees skid across the shower floor and he thinks, _I'm right where I want to be_. Wongeun falls to his knees almost immediately after he comes, and Hakyeon's head hits the shower wall as Wongeun's mouth works him over.

Wongeun orders green curry, and Hakyeon orders tom-kha-but-not-spicy. They eat on Wongeun's couch, half-watching a drama they've both already seen, and Hakyeon puts away the dishes and comes back to rest on Wongeun's chest, his mind quiet and tranquil.

***

**[2016: December]**

"Fuck!" Wongeun swears. "Jesus _Christ_ , you and that selfie stick! Warn me! I'm going to find Lee Jaehwan and I'm going to _murder_ him!" Hakyeon cackles and dives out of reach under the covers, and Wongeun catches him by an elbow and hauls him back out. There's a brief tussle, but in the end Wongeun's broad shoulders and rage win over Hakyeon's extralegal tactics. Hakyeon lets the selfie stick drop to the bed, his phone still attached to the end, and Wongeun flops bonelessly on top of him. "I was _sleeping_."

It's true. Wongeun _was_ sleeping, and Hakyeon has the perfectly-angled selfie to prove it. Wongeun is also naked under the sheets, because Hakyeon has declared that any time between Christmas and New Year's is a wonderful time of year to be naked together, even if it means dodging out of celebratory post-gayo noraebang with BTOB.

He hasn't found _just enough_ yet, no matter how much time he manages to carve out of promotion schedules and concert tours for a cup of tea or a quiet night in.

Wongeun sits up, scrubbing his hands across his face, and the pout he aims at Hakyeon is so endearingly pathetic that Hakyeon giggles, ruffling Wongeun's hair beyond its sleep-induced disarray. Wongeun looks increasingly disgruntled, and Hakyeon follows his puffy eyes to Hakyeon's t-shirt. Not only is he clothed, but he's clothed in Wongeun's castoffs from earlier in the evening. This, apparently, is insult added to injury.

"I won't find that on Instagram with 200,000 likes tomorrow, will I?" Wongeun asks, and Hakyeon gets an appealing eyeful as Wongeun stands and stretches. He crawls purposefully across the bed to land a harsh pinch on Wongeun's ass, and Wongeun swats his hand. "Don't grab things you don't want right away," Wongeun rebukes, and the tenuous threads of Hakyeon's smarmy reply to the Instagram question slip through his grasp.

Wongeun inspects the articles of clothing strewn across the floor, lighting on a pair of sleep pants that are almost definitely his. He tugs them on and perches at the edge of the bed, fitting one hand against Hakyeon's jaw where he's still kneeling, dumbfounded.

"What's going on in that mind, Cha Hakyeon?" Wongeun asks, low and intimate. Hakyeon's knees give way and he sits heavily on his own ankle with a wince.

"It's been almost a year," Hakyeon speaks his realization aloud. "A year on the first."

"Or the thirty-first, depending on where you start counting," Wongeun objects mildly. "It'll be another year next December. That's how time works."

"Next December...?" Hakyeon repeats, his voice faint. The vast expanse of time stretches itself out before him, glittering galaxy-like with album releases and scheduled interviews. He hasn't been casting his vision that far ahead, preferring the blissful myopia of here and now. If he'd looked, he would have seen VIXX, only VIXX, taking it for granted that one day, Wongeun would move on.

"You have confused-face on." Wongeun's thumb brushes across Hakyeon's cheekbone. "Use your words."

Hakyeon opens his mouth, but can't find the phrasing. He closes his mouth, gathers himself, tries again. "You aren't going anywhere," he manages, and Wongeun's eyes are soft on him.

"I'm not," Wongeun confirms. "You don't seem to have a problem with that."

"December twenty-seventh," Hakyeon blurts, and Wongeun recoils, his eyebrows shooting up. "December twenty-seventh." Hakyeon tries for businesslike and ends up somewhat closer to relieved, but it doesn't matter. "The day I'm officially asking you to be mine. Keep being mine. This December, next December." _Every December_ , Hakyeon doesn't say.

Wongeun's eyes turn playful, and Hakyeon winds his fingers around Wongeun's wrist, holding him where he is. "Hakyeon _nie_ , are you asking me to be your _nam-chin_?" The question in his voice is teasing, but he sobers quickly. " _Yours._ Cha Hakyeon, you melodramatic dumbass, I already am."

Tears well in Hakyeon's eyes and Wongeun swipes them away, kissing the wet trails they leave behind. "I was just going to get a _sandwich_ , God." His voice shakes when he attempts exasperated laughter. "I really did just want food. I was going to ask if you wanted tea."

"Yes," Hakyeon sniffles, pressing a kiss to Wongeun's lips. "Yes, I do want tea. Yes."

"Well," Wongeun's voice breaks, and Hakyeon looks up to see that Wongeun is near tears, and his chest is all at once uncomfortably tight, "you can make your own."

Hakyeon can't think of anything to say past, "I'm yours, too." It comes out helpless, earnest as he meets Wongeun's eyes. "I am." Every moment of the past year and a half spills into the words, and Hakyeon had not started the day off intending to break down sobbing in Wongeun's bed, but here he is, and Wongeun's arms safeguard him from falling apart even as Wongeun himself trembles.

  
***

**[2017: January]**

"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system," Wongeun grumbles, with no real ire. Hakyeon just latches himself tighter onto Wongeun. Wongeun staggers on the way to put on his shoes, and Hakyeon takes the opportunity to run his hands down Wongeun's thighs. Touching everywhere he can, never whereanyone can witness him. "You want to rub your face on my leg like a cat, too?" Wongeun's tone betrays his amusement.

"I've had worse legs than yours in my face," Hakyeon laughs, and straightens to catch Wongeun in a tight hug. "Hazards of the profession." Wongeun's arms ring Hakyeon's waist loosely. His face screws up in concentration.

Hakyeon never gets the chance to ask what he's thinking about. "No, no," Wongeun concludes, apropos of the topic of legs in faces, "I think most bed scenes are pretty much _only_ missionary." Hakyeon whaps him on the chest, the sting taken out of it by the kiss he leans up to press to Wongeun's lips. "Stop being violent and let me put on my shoes! Wasn't it you who had the problem with running late?"

They eventually make it out of the apartment, only a bit worse for wear, and Hakyeon emerges first into the thin sunlight, scanning the street automatically for—  
  
He turns back hurriedly, pulls the foyer door closed behind him, and catches Wongeun by the waist. "Wait. Wait here. There's..." Hakyeon sighs deeply. "...There's a fansite on the street. Let me get rid of her."

Wongeun's expression opens up in surprise. "Here?" he asks, incredulous. "That's not normal. You know that's not _normal_ , right?"

Hakyeon's mouth thins into an agitated line. "I'll get rid of her," Hakyeon insists, short and clipped. "Text Jisoo. Tell him we may be running late after all."

"Hakyeon-ah—" Wongeun calls after him, but Hakyeon is already out the door.

He allows practiced blankness to take over his face as he hears the rapid clicks of a shutter, shooting continuously under the cheery, "Hakyeon-oppa!" She already has her phone out, readying to summon her colleagues to Wongeun's building.

"Please don't do that," Hakyeon says, polite, but an obvious demand. "You shouldn't be here, Jiyoonie. It's the new year, you should be spending time with your loved ones."

"Of course, oppa," she accedes, and Hakyeon holds in a sigh. "I hope you're having a blessed new year."

Still, she stands there, looking expectant. Hakyeon calls up the best smile he can give on such short notice and holds out his hands. Sure enough, an album—their latest—and a marker emerge from her bag. Hakyeon scrawls a message about good health and doodles a messy set of stick figures, labelling one with her name.

Hakyeon makes one more polite request before handing back the album. "Please don't post those photos. It will make my friends very uncomfortable."

"Of course, oppa." Her camera, stowed away with care, drops into her bag alongside the album.

He smiles broadly and waves at her as she makes her way toward a nearby boba tea shop, only turning away once he sees her at the counter placing an order. He walks at a brisk pace back to Wongeun's building, threatening to break into a jog with every step, and finds Wongeun sitting low on a flight of stairs. Hakyeon tugs his coat tighter around himself, and Wongeun stands, putting his phone away.

"Got it sorted?" Wongeun asks. When Hakyeon nods tersely, Wongeun's hands drop onto his shoulders. Hakyeon closes his eyes and takes a calming breath.

"They're not supposed to follow us," Hakyeon explains, hears the low note of frustration in his voice. "They _know_ that."

Wongeun doesn't speak, but his hands lift and slip under the layers of Hakyeon's winter clothes to sweep his thumbs across Hakyeon's collarbones, fingertips kneading at the tense set of Hakyeon's shoulders. Hakyeon's hands, clenched into fists, relax painfully, blood rushing to catch up with itself.

"Jisoo said he'd hold our table," Wongeun murmurs after a long moment, and Hakyeon smiles woodenly and nods. "I called a taxi. It should be here."

Hakyeon squeezes Wongeun's hands in his own as he shrugs them from his shoulders. "She won't post the photos." Wongeun hadn't asked, but Hakyeon sees something shift in the way he holds himself, a barely-there release of tension. "We're okay," Hakyeon adds, for himself more than Wongeun. "We're fine. She doesn't know."

They make small talk about Wongeun's sister on the way to the restaurant. She ended up adopting Wongeun's foster puppy, and her cat has lost almost a full kilogram. After they pay, as they exit the taxi, Wongeun touches Hakyeon's elbow with a subtle gesture. "I don't mind if your group knows," he says quietly. "I think they love you as much as you love them."

Hakyeon, taken aback, almost misses the handshake Jisoo extends to him.

"We should have done this earlier," Jisoo laments. “You guys seemed busy when I asked. How does it feel on those big stages, hyung?"

"They're really smaller than you think," Hakyeon says dryly, taking his seat across from Wongeun and Jisoo. "Or maybe we're just bigger than we think. Sanghyuk keeps growing."

"Soon you won't be able to beat him up, hyung," Wongeun ribs, and Hakyeon preens.

"I will _always_ be able to beat him up." He yanks his phone from his pocket, sending a voice memo to Sanghyuk. "Yah, Han Sanghyuk, can I beat you up? Say yes, brat."

Their drink orders arrive, and Hakyeon receives a reply. He plays it aloud. _"I held you down until you agreed to do the laundry_ yesterday _, hyung. Hi, Wongeun, please train him to cook ramen."_

Wongeun stifles a derisive snort into his water glass, and Jisoo doesn't bother. "You sure told him. _And_ he knew Wongeun was here. Don't spend too much time together or I may get jealous."

"He doesn't have a TV," Wongeun accounts, long-suffering. "He uses my Netflix subscription to watch old dramas. And he's old, so his vision is going. His laptop screen isn't big enough."

"I hear glasses are trendy now," Jisoo smirks, and Hakyeon looks up to the ceiling in a familiar prayer for patience. "Our Hakyeon-hyung would look very erudite with glasses."

Hakyeon wonders which will arrive first: his food or his God-sent patience.

***

**[2017: June]**

Wongeun's knuckles are white where he clutches at the hotel headboard. The line of his spine arches under Hakyeon's hands when Hakyeon runs them over his back, up to his straining shoulders, down to his ass, reaching to nudge Wongeun's knees farther apart.

"N-Geun," he murmurs, before licking at Wongeun again, and Wongeun jolts back into the touch, letting loose a strangled noise.

His breath is heavy, audible over the low music playing from the bedside speaker. His skin is sticky with sweat, and his knees are spread either side of an ever-growing wet spot on the bed. Hakyeon digs his fingers into the meat of Wongeun's thighs as he licks into him, pulls back to swirl his tongue lasciviously.

"Won-Cha," Wongeun insists, and, "fucking _touch_ me, Hakyeon, _please._ "

Hakyeon, not one to be swayed by grudging pleas, bends once more to his task. He scrapes his teeth across the skin of Wongeun's ass, bites gently to hear the gasp that shivers out of Wongeun. "Yeon-Geun," Hakyeon says, diplomatic. "Final offer."

"I'm not— _shit—_ letting you expose us to the world as fucking—" Hakyeon wraps his fingers, one by one, around Wongeun's aching cock. "— _YeonGeun_ , God, come _here_ —"

Wongeun comes riding Hakyeon's thigh, strung-out and desperate, so gorgeous that it takes almost no time at all after Wongeun's mouth sinks onto Hakyeon's cock for him to follow.

When Wongeun traipses off to the en-suite, Hakyeon rushes to retrieve his phone from the bedside table, mashing furiously at the screen until he’s posted a photo to Twitter. His phone is knocked from his hand by the balled-up towel Wongeun flings at him. Hakyeon dabs daintily at the mess on his leg, joyous anticipation coursing through him as Wongeun plucks Hakyeon's phone from the rumpled covers.

" _YeonGeun,_ " Wongeun says flatly. "We're _YeonGeun_ now."

Hakyeon gives Wongeun a self-satisfied smile as Wongeun thrusts Hakyeon’s own phone out at him, displaying a picture from their earlier excursion in Osaka, captioned with the damning hashtag.

"We'll be YeonGeun on your birthday, too," Hakyeon chirps, and Wongeun groans. He falls backward into the pillows, defeated, and returns Hakyeon's phone.

***

Wongeun, drained, slumps forward to rest against Hakyeon's chest, groaning as Hakyeon slips out of him. Hakyeon can barely breathe, pressed down by Wongeun's weight, but he winds himself around Wongeun all the same, hiding a kiss in Wongeun's damp hair.

"Was that what you wanted?" he asks, lipping at the shell of Wongeun's ear. Wongeun groans again, rolling to the side to lie heavily atop Hakyeon's arm. For Wongeun, sated and fucked-out, Hakyeon thinks he can endure the brief loss of circulation.

Wongeun turns his head to smack a wet kiss at Hakyeon's bicep. "It was that or an in with your designer friend, but I think...this was better." Content exhale. "Thank you for being here with me, Hakyeon-ah." Hakyeon pulls his arm from underneath Wongeun and flips himself over, hiding his face against Wongeun's shoulder, damming the sudden well of affection in his chest. It feels too _big_ for him, threatening to swallow him up in soft words and sweaty skin.

"Happy birthday, my Wongeunnie," Hakyeon sighs, thoughts lost in a post-coital haze. "I got you a cake...I just...got distracted..." He moans happily when Wongeun musters the strength to fling an arm over Hakyeon's waist, holding them chest to chest, Hakyeon's face fitting between Wongeun's shoulder and his jaw.

"You bought it, right?" Wongeun's voice comes out strained and hoarse, like he's spent all his remaining effort in cuddling Hakyeon. "You didn't make it? Tell me you didn't make it."

"No," Hakyeon confirms against Wongeun's neck. Kisses there, just because he _can_ , in punctuation. "I asked Eunji what kind of cake you'd want...preferably when we're cleaner..."

Wongeun slides one leg across the bed to slip between Hakyeon's thighs. "Are you done for now, then?" Hakyeon pinches Wongeun's flank, indignant, but moans again in a way he hopes sounds affirming. "I'll...I'll get up to shower when you do," Wongeun says lamely, and Hakyeon laughs, pained, accepting that they'll remain covered in questionable fluids for the time being.

It's a solid ten minutes later that they summon the willpower to move into the shower, trading slow kisses as they rinse off the evidence of the hours they'd recently spent in bed, leaving behind only the bruises Hakyeon has kissed into Wongeun's clavicle, his chest, his inner thigh. Hakyeon's skin mirrors them inexactly, the faint imprints of fingertips and teeth blushing where no one will ever see. No one except Hakyeon, eyes falling in admiration to where Wongeun's hands, splayed at his waist, match up perfectly with gradually-darkening marks.

They dress in t-shirts, both from Wongeun's suitcase. Wongeun puts on underwear, but Hakyeon doesn't, Wongeun's shirt brushing lazily at the tops of his thighs. Wongeun requests that they take a nap before getting takeout and demolishing Wongeun's birthday cake. Hakyeon makes a show of token protest, but pliantly takes his place in bed without much actual struggle.

"We don't have to always be _doing_ something," Wongeun slurs, half-asleep, in response to Hakyeon's unvoiced thoughts. "You're still here. I'm still..."

What Wongeun still is, he never says, but Hakyeon feels strangely uncompelled to know. He closes his eyes and wonders distantly how much time is left until Taekwoon and Jaehwan will be called to their respective stages, and whether or not to send texts wishing them good luck, and...

***

 _Lee Wongeun, happy 27th birthday,_ Hakyeon prints carefully on the back of a piece of hotel stationery, and fishes in his laptop bag for the single candle he'd bought earlier that day. On the bed, Wongeun stirs, casting about for Hakyeon and sitting up abruptly when he's nowhere to be found. His hair, dry now, falls in a tousled mess across his forehead. He visibly relaxes when he sees Hakyeon, kneeling before a low wooden end table, flicking valiantly at the Daiso lighter he carries with him all the time.

"Just for a photo," Hakyeon explains, quiet, afraid to shatter the hush of the room. "You left the takeout menus on the nightstand. I called in orders for what you circled. I can call back and ask for more—"

"Come here," Wongeun asks, extending one hand. Hakyeon lets the lighter clatter onto the table, plastic against woodgrain, and climbs onto the bed, allowing Wongeun to hug him to his chest. "I promise you we don't need to run on an itinerary, Hakyeon-ah." Wongeun murmurs the words low into Hakyeon's ear, kisses his temple. "I know...you want to do as much as you can with me before you have to leave again..." More kisses, dotting down Hakyeon's jaw, back up, and Hakyeon's eyes fall shut, and he tries to convince his racing heart to slow, steep itself in Wongeun's calm voice. "We don't have to, Hakyeon-ah. I promise. We have the whole week."

"And after that?" Hakyeon breathes, uncertainty breaking high in his throat. "I have to leave."

"And you're planning to come back, aren't you?" Wongeun's tone lifts playfully, his voice buzzing against Hakyeon's ear. "You leave, I leave, we come back, we meet somewhere in the middle. 'Til we don't have to." Implicit, the understanding that _idolness_ comes to an end, that one day Hakyeon will go to pasture on a musical stage or an unending string of photoshoots, and he'll come home at the end of the day to a place where he lives without the steady presence of five of his closest companions.

Hakyeon leans up to catch Wongeun's lips in a chaste kiss, his brow knitted in pain. Wongeun draws it out, kisses Hakyeon again and again until his lips verge on going numb. "Yes," Hakyeon finally responds, shivery but firm. "Yes, Wongeun. Yes. Yes." He inhales, opening up his aching lungs, and rubs his hand idly up Wongeun's chest. "Photo, though."

"Photo," Wongeun assents, and as Hakyeon clambers over Wongeun to retrieve his phone, Wongeun swipes at Hakyeon's ankle and teases him for being just so easy to please, Hakyeonnie. Give you a good ride and a nice Instagram post and you bring me cake _and_ food. And just like that, Hakyeon sees a stretch of endless tomorrows, and Wongeun, glittering there alongside five other loves of his life.

***

**[2017: December]**

Shock. Icy, chilling him to his core. His eyes run over the headline again, disbelief crashing over into blank acceptance. _Confirmed_ , his heart carves against his ribs. _December 18, 2017._

 _Move._ Five voices, cries of despair, waking up, reading the news. Hakyeon needs to _move_. His body refuses to obey, even as everything inside urges him to _go_. Distantly, he knows his hands tremble where they hover over his laptop keyboard. Distantly, he _needs_ to hold all five of them in his arms, but he's out in the air somewhere, looking down at himself, and he can't _move_.

 _"Hyung_ ," Wonshik's voice sobs, plaintive, across the dorm, and Hakyeon's computer chair rolls back roughly as he lunges to his feet, shaking out his numb limbs. His breath races in sick tandem with his heart, and he needs, _needs_ to hold all five of them.

He crashes into Sanghyuk midway through their living room. "Hyung," and Sanghyuk's voice hasn't sounded so small in years, and he clings to Hakyeon's hand, and then Hakyeon's neck is damp with Wonshik's violent tears, and he sinks to the floor and sobs into Hongbin's stomach, anchors himself with one hand clawed in Jaehwan's thigh, leans heavily against Taekwoon's chest at his back. Gives himself over to the cold waves of grief, until, one by one, the five people he lives and breathes turn quiet and wan.

"Go back to sleep," Hakyeon whispers. Touches them each fretfully, hair, cheeks, lips. "My sweet boys. Go back to sleep. Hyung will be there soon."

The crippling dread has not yet wrung its way through Hakyeon. With a frustrated scoff, he shakes tears away, sends their blurry wall flying across his cheeks. He shuts himself into his room and yanks his phone from its charger.

He has a message from Hwang Sejun. All scheduled performances have been cancelled for the day. He sobs, speechless, and swipes the notification away.

Wongeun picks up on the second ring. "Hakyeon, I'm so—"

"I love you," Hakyeon cries in a rush. "Wongeun, I love you so much—" His throat closes around the words, but Wongeun is already speaking.

"I know, Hakyeon, Hakyeon—I love you, Hakyeon, you—you're the strongest man I know, Hakyeon, you'll be okay..." Wongeun soothes Hakyeon as Hakyeon stammers out the anguish and terror wracking him, half-formed thoughts stumbling past his lips. Wonshik. Taemin. His parents. Hakyeon will have to attend the service. Hakyeon will have to shoulder five fragile hearts, and Hakyeon _doesn't know how_. Hakyeon doesn't know how to be a big brother, a caretaker, a confidante all at once, not when he's a single harsh word away from shattering.

"You've been with them for more than half a decade," Wongeun says, and it carries the tone of a prayer. "Just keep being with them. I think... _God_ , Hakyeon. I think that's all you _need_ to do."

Wongeun asks Hakyeon questions. Will he be okay. Do they need anything. Does _Hakyeon_ need anything. No, Hakyeon answers, please just keep being here, I love you. I love you, I love you.

"I have to go," Hakyeon whispers, once he thinks his tears have finally been exhausted, replaced with welcome lethargy. "They're waiting for me to come back."

"Go be with them. I'm here. I'll see you soon, Hakyeon."

"I love you," Hakyeon sighs one last time, and Wongeun says, "I love you, Cha Hakyeon," and they hang up.

 _We'll be fine,_ Hakyeon texts his mother and father. _Don't worry. Everyone will be fine._

Five sets of bedclothes and pillows have taken the place of their coffee table, and five lanky bodies lie piled on their living room floor, heads on chests, arms and legs wrapped tightly around one another. Hakyeon fits himself between Taekwoon and Sanghyuk, grabs two rough fistfuls of Sanghyuk's thin t-shirt, and breathes.

***

Hakyeon stretches himself out on the couch. It's physically impossible for him to touch Wongeun in more places than he is right now, but damned if he won't try. Wongeun pulls the blanket tighter around them, and Hakyeon hears the steady thudding of Wongeun's heart close up from the safe confines of his arms.

It's been a year again. Another December, anniversary quick on the heels of Christmas, Wongeun swearing up and down that Hakyeon doesn't need to buy him an extravagant gift.

An anniversary, though, their _first_ anniversary. Hakyeon had wanted to give Wongeun what he wanted most, pool his considerable resources and come up with something _perfect_. He'd thought about it to distraction, and finally, in the comfy aftermath of Christmas filming, watching his members berate one another after a spectacularly failed secret Santa, he'd settled on his gift to Wongeun.

Time. That simplest of things, which eluded them so often. They have so much time, days and days without end, and still all of those days have not yet come to pass. Every lazy day in bed, every move-in date, every trip together—every one of them in a future they won't reach for years. And so Hakyeon had cancelled his family engagements for the twenty-sixth, -seventh, and -eighth of December, wished his members good luck in their musicals, and packed an overnight bag.

Wongeun had gotten Hakyeon a decant of the summery cologne Wongeun wears, after Hakyeon had sleepily murmured how much he liked it, and had presented Hakyeon with a flower arrangement, made by his own hand. He sat with Hakyeon and pointed to each flower, explaining its meaning, confessing its price when Hakyeon insisted. Wongeun gave Hakyeon solid, tangible things, one ephemeral and one lasting. One he can take with him, easily explained away, a gift from a friend. Certainly and indelibly Wongeun's.

"So what do you have planned for us tomorrow?" Wongeun had asked the first night, when the twenty-seventh lay behind a curtain of sleep. Hakyeon, one hand on Wongeun's chest, one in his hair, had lifted himself up enough to look Wongeun in the eye.

"I...didn't plan anything tomorrow," he'd admitted sheepishly. "I thought—I wanted to—we could just stay here?" A note of apprehension, unsure if this was the right gift after all.

Until Wongeun's arms wrapped around his waist and Wongeun pulled Hakyeon back down, pressing a long kiss to Hakyeon's forehead. "I love you, Cha Hakyeon," he'd murmured, and that unbearable smug feeling licked hotly behind Hakyeon's ribs.

Now, it's midday, and they haven't gotten out of their pajamas. Hakyeon had reheated their leftover takeout from the night before, and Wongeun cobbled together a few side dishes, and they'd eaten breakfast on the kitchen island in amiable silence. Wongeun had checked the news and judged that nothing was happening today. Hakyeon, laughing, accepted it as true.

Slow, languid shower sex, right after breakfast, Wongeun's mouth tasting of coffee and toothpaste, Hakyeon thinks is worth waiting for. He's made the world stop for them, just to see, and he's immersed in quiet love, the kind he feels while he's lying on the couch, swathed in blankets and last night's pajamas, an American action movie Wongeun picked crashing quietly in the background.

Hakyeon's heart throbs painfully. He drags himself up Wongeun's body with a groan of effort. Wongeun raises an eyebrow, but he kisses back when Hakyeon claims his mouth, indolent turning to sultry, sultry to hungry. Wongeun's teeth scrape, a mere hint of pressure, across Hakyeon's lower lip, and Hakyeon whines, shifting one leg to straddle Wongeun's thigh and roll his hips.

"Use your words," Wongeun teases Hakyeon, and Hakyeon, for the sake of disobedience, grips one of Wongeun's hands and slides it down his waist, under his cotton sleep pants, to where Hakyeon is still loose and open from when Wongeun fucked him in the morning, starting in the shower, ending with Hakyeon bent over the sink counter, begging for _harder_ , _more_.

Wongeun's lips quirk into a knowing half-smile, and he caresses smoothly over Hakyeon's ass, brushing right past where Hakyeon has _made it clear he wants Wongeun to touch him_. Hakyeon groans. "Won _geun."_

"Use your words," Wongeun insists, but now it's an indulgent laugh as Hakyeon shifts his hips restlessly, attempting to chase down Wongeun's wandering hand. He's half-hard against Wongeun's thigh, arousal growing more urgent with every kiss Wongeun moves to suck into Hakyeon's neck. Wongeun gasps when Hakyeon's nails rake down his clothed chest, bracing himself with one hand at Wongeun's shoulder and groping boldly at Wongeun's cock with his other.

"Put your fingers in me," Hakyeon demands, the words coming too fast and ready, more of a plea. "Wongeunnie, Wongeun—"

Wongeun runs a knuckle over the smooth skin behind Hakyeon's balls and Hakyeon cries out softly. "I won't hurt you," Wongeun murmurs, kissing along the line of Hakyeon's jaw. "I think we left that lube in the end table. Top drawer?"

Hakyeon fumbles the drawer open over Wongeun's shoulder, shoving the bottle into Wongeun's hand, triumphant. "No more excuses," he declares. "In me. Now."

"Sexy," Wongeun mutters mutinously, but gamely slicks up his fingers. Hakyeon, taking exception, rears back and yanks his shirt over his head, smiling his wickedest smile down at Wongeun as he swivels his hips in a slow grind, thigh flush against Wongeun's dick. Wongeun is hard, just as affected as Hakyeon, and he inhales sharply, surging up to catch Hakyeon's mouth in a needy kiss. Hakyeon squirms out of his pants and Wongeun's lips drop to Hakyeon's chest at the same time as his first fingertip presses in where Hakyeon wants it.

Hakyeon lets his head fall to the side as Wongeun flirts with differing pressure inside him, two fingers now, and Hakyeon's back arches into it, dazed by and drunk on and basking in the heat radiating through him. Wongeun's lips on his chest give way to teeth and Hakyeon mewls helplessly. "More, _ah_ , more, more—another—" Three fingers, full enough that Hakyeon can feel the stretch, tight between his hips, and Wongeun is shoving his pajamas to mid-thigh and rutting up against Hakyeon, and it's not _enough,_ Hakyeon pleads, not _enough_.

He paws at Wongeun's t-shirt until Wongeun pulls away long enough for Hakyeon to undress him, his fingers immediately resuming their delicious torment, good, _so_ good, and now Hakyeon has Wongeun's hot skin under his hands, Wongeun's lips parting wantonly against his own, messy kisses, desperate. Hakyeon's hips roll forward and his cock slips alongside Wongeun's in a wet slide of lube and precome, back and he's riding Wongeun's fingers, his blood rushing in his ears, a dull roar of pleasure.

"Hakyeon, you're beautiful," Wongeun's voice shakes out on a labored exhale. "So beautiful, God, you look so good, God, Hakyeon, I love you—"

Hakyeon pitches forward and clings to Wongeun as he grinds hard against Wongeun's stomach and comes, crying out roughly as Wongeun's hips work under him. He claws his way to the surface of wave after wave of release and gets a hand on Wongeun's cock, breathing wet and heavy into Wongeun's ear. "Wongeunnie, my Wongeunnie, come for me," he coos, and Wongeun's hips stutter and go still, shooting into the slick trail between them.

Wongeun's fingers slip gently out of Hakyeon, one by one, and Hakyeon noses along Wongeun's jaw, settling his lips at Wongeun's pulse point. They catch their breath in silence.

They move at the same time to clean up, now, staggering off toward Wongeun’s bathroom on unsteady legs. Hakyeon grimaces at the scratchiness of terry cloth on sensitive skin and Wongeun kisses him apologetically and says, "I’ll make tea. I love you," and leaves.

When Hakyeon emerges from the bathroom, Wongeun’s on the couch, two mugs of tea steaming away on either end table. "Tea," Wongeun confirms, lifting his mug pointedly, and Hakyeon plops down next to him, threatening to slosh boiling water over Wongeun’s fingers as Hakyeon curls up as close as he can get. "Careful," Wongeun chastises, and Hakyeon hums, contrary, resting his head against Wongeun’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

"Your tea will get cold if you fall asleep," Wongeun warns, and Hakyeon weighs that consequence against the enticing quiet stealing its way across his mind. Wongeun pulls Hakyeon just that much closer, and Hakyeon determines that cold tea is an evil he’s willing to suffer, when Wongeun is here, solid and comfortable and familiar, the heat of his body warming Hakyeon through.

* * *

  ** _and back again._**

* * *

 

**[2017: December]**

When Wongeun wakes to see the breaking news alert, his first, selfish thought is of Hakyeon.

He has no new messages from Hakyeon. No missed calls. He shoves down every impulse that rises up to _call Hakyeon_ , make sure Hakyeon is—

Kim Jonghyun’s family, his coworkers, his members. Wongeun doesn’t _know_ most of them, but he feels their loss sharply, suddenly.

He texts Eunji. _Are you okay?_ Then, as he pours his coffee on autopilot, _I’m here._

She texts back almost instantly. _We’re all fine, oppa, we’ll all be fine. Thank you for asking us._

Still no word from Hakyeon as Wongeun makes breakfast. Wongeun does his best to ignore the pangs of worry wracking their way through his chest.

Wongeun is on his second cup of coffee, waiting for an egg to fry through, when his phone buzzes violently against the counter, and he picks it up, frantic, fumbling the spatula in his other hand.

"Hakyeon," he sighs, so _relieved_ to have Hakyeon on the other end of the line. "I’m so—"

"I love you," Hakyeon sobs. "Wongeun, I love you so much—"

Hakyeon repeats that phrase, _I love you_ , easy as breathing, to everyone except Wongeun. It holds more weight between them, an inexorable gravity, and Hakyeon has worked it into a thousand little gestures, but only now does he say it aloud. Over and over, begging and pleading for Wongeun to listen.

"I know, Hakyeon," Wongeun breathes, moving his breakfast off the hot burner and cradling his phone to his face. "Hakyeon— I love you, Hakyeon, you’re the strongest man I know—you’ll be okay—" The words tumble out, anything and everything he can say to alleviate some of the pain in Hakyeon’s voice.

Hakyeon’s crying, talking a mile a minute, and Wongeun catches _Wonshik_ and _Taemin_ and _memorial_ and _I’m not ready to be everything they need, I’m just…_

Wongeun searches everything he’s ever learned for any tattered bit of reassurance to give Hakyeon. "You’ve…been with them for more than half a decade. Just keep being with them. I think…" That’s all Hakyeon can do. "God, Hakyeon, I think that’s all you _need_ to do."

More than anything, Wongeun entreats Hakyeon to take care of himself. He asks Hakyeon if he’ll be okay, do they need anything, does _Hakyeon_ need anything from Wongeun.

Hakyeon, still in shock, answers briefly, interspersed with a constant loop of _I love you_. Wongeun says back _I know_ and _I love you_. His breakfast grows steadily colder, and Wongeun’s racing heart slows as Hakyeon keeps speaking, quieter and quieter until he’s whispering to Wongeun, utterly exhausted.

"I have to go. They’re waiting for me to come back."

Something tugs painful and taut in Wongeun’s chest. "Go be with them," he orders gently, despite it. “I’m here. I’ll see you soon, Hakyeon.”

"I love you," Hakyeon repeats one last time.

"I love you, Cha Hakyeon," Wongeun vows, and the line goes dead.

Wongeun stands over his stove, his phone in one hand, his other clutching at his heart until it feels like maybe it won’t fall out and shatter against the tiled floor.

***

**[2017: June]**

Wongeun wakes up cold and alone.

He rolls across the bed, searching for Hakyeon, the warm weight of him, and finds nothing but rumpled sheets. He sits up abruptly, mindlessly panicked, and catches sight of Hakyeon kneeling at the side of the bed, fiddling with a lighter, Wongeun’s birthday cake on a low table before him.

Hakyeon’s anxious _need_ to be in constant motion is overwhelming him, and it shows in the repeated, frustrated motion of his thumb over the lighter, the tense set of his jaw. "Just for a photo," he explains quietly. "You left the takeout menus on the nightstand. I called in orders for what you circled, I can call back and ask for more—"

Wongeun doesn’t _want_ more takeout, he wants Hakyeon, present in the moment and as happy and content as Wongeun can make him. Wongeun extends a hand toward Hakyeon. "Come here," he requests, and Hakyeon drops the lighter with a loud clatter of plastic.

He climbs onto the bed, and he doesn’t struggle when Wongeun hugs him close. "I promise you, we don’t need to run on an itinerary, Hakyeon-ah," he murmurs, and Hakyeon relaxes a fraction against him, a default response to the tone of Wongeun’s voice from many exchanges exactly like this. He drops a kiss at Hakyeon’s temple, his heart beating hard, painfully full of fond feeling for the man in his arms. "I know you want to do as much as you can with me before you have to leave again…"

Wongeun kisses everywhere he can reach, Hakyeon’s jaw, his cheek,until Hakyeon’s eyes fall shut and he relaxes further, melting into the embrace and stroking his fingertips absently across Wongeun’s thigh. "We don’t have to, Hakyeon-ah," Wongeun finishes, pushing his leg up so Hakyeon can rest his hand there. "I promise. We have the whole week."

"And after that?" Hakyeon breathes, grounding himself with a firm grip at Wongeun’s offered thigh. "I have to leave." His voice breaks, uncertain.

Wongeun presses his lips to Hakyeon’s ear. "And you’re planning to come back, aren’t you? You leave, I leave, we come back, we meet somewhere in the middle. ’Til we don’t have to."

Hakyeon’s body is tense all over again when he darts up to kiss Wongeun, chaste and desperate, and Wongeun catches Hakyeon there and holds him gently, kisses him over and over until he’s pliant and responsive, mastering whatever anxiety has managed to shake loose inside him and replacing it with resolute calm.

"Yes," he responds shakily, at long last. "Yes. Wongeun. Yes. Yes." His hand moves to Wongeun’s chest, rubbing idly up toward his shoulder. "Photo, though."

Hakyeon wants to keep this moment for himself, immortalized in a picture of Wongeun staring blearily into a camera, and if it will make Hakyeon happy in some distant future, when he’s not here with Wongeun, Wongeun is willing to suffer this minor indignity.

Will he tease Hakyeon mercilessly in the meantime? Oh, absolutely.

***

Wongeun’s mind and his voice, shivering out thin against Hakyeon’s lips, are a mess of _oh, yes_ and _Hakyeon-ah_ , with the occasional foray into utter speechlessness. Hakyeon’s fingers twist cruelly inside Wongeun and Wongeun’s thighs give out; he sinks forward to catch Hakyeon’s mouth in a messy, urgent kiss. Hakyeon’s smile against Wongeun’s lips says that he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Wongeun and he’s _pleased_ with himself, and Wongeun sucks submissively at Hakyeon’s tongue, grinding his hips back onto Hakyeon’s hand as he clutches at Hakyeon’s shoulders for dear life.

"Hakyeon," Wongeun pleads in the humid air between their lips, "Hakyeon, fuck me, _please_ —"

"Are you ready, Wongeunnie?" Hakyeon asks conversationally, the unbothered tone to his voice belied by the hitch in his breath, the color high in his cheeks.

Wongeun has been ready for what feels like _hours_ , and he groans as much until Hakyeon obligingly removes his fingers, slipping all three out one by one, so that Wongeun is breathing hard with the sudden _emptiness_. "Hakyeon," Wongeun implores again, and Hakyeon runs a soothing hand down Wongeun’s back, busying his other with the half-empty bottle of silicone-based on the nightstand.

"Okay, I’m—" Hakyeon begins, his hands settling at Wongeun’s hips, but Wongeun has already slid back, down onto Hakyeon’s slicked-up cock in one restless motion. He cries out with the sudden stretch of it, shifts his hips to feel Hakyeon’s dick tease across that spot inside of Wongeun that tears another moan out of him, and Hakyeon’s breath comes short and restrained, his body going taut, waiting for Wongeun to move.

Wongeun’s thighs shake as he rolls his hips, just enough for Hakyeon to slip out, and the friction, _God_ , it’s so—

Wongeun repeats the motion, more exaggerated, and that’s even better, and then he’s properly riding Hakyeon, gripping Hakyeon’s bent knee and leaning back to get Hakyeon right at the perfect angle, and Hakyeon’s hips lift to meet Wongeun’s and drive Wongeun’s broken voice louder, lower with swelling pleasure. Wongeun’s cock twitches hard, leaking enthusiastically across his stomach in offbeat tandem with Hakyeon’s tossing hips. When Hakyeon moves a hand to grip Wongeun’s cock, Wongeun’s voice deserts him entirely.

The space is filled by Hakyeon, who’s watching Wongeun move, enchanted, running on about how _good it feels, Wongeunnie, I love giving you what you want, love seeing you come apart, you look so lovely, Wongeunnie. Come for me. Come for me, Wongeunnie, yes, that’s it._

It’s a blur of not-enough and too-much and Wongeun’s legs stop _working_ but Hakyeon takes over where Wongeun cannot, and Wongeun’s coming, making a mess of both of them as Hakyeon thrusts up into him, taking his own pleasure while Wongeun writhes above him.

 _"Wongeun_ ," Hakyeon sighs, before he goes still, yanking Wongeun’s hips _down_ , and Wongeun _whines_ , too much, not enough. They reach a cautious stalemate, Hakyeon’s face buried in Wongeun’s chest as he comes down.

It’s not long before Wongeun slumps forward, too drained to stay upright, and rests against Hakyeon’s chest. He groans with the odd, slippery discomfort of Hakyeon’s dick sliding out of him, but he’s quickly distracted by Hakyeon’s lips against Wongeun’s hair, his long limbs wrapping around Wongeun.

"Was that what you wanted?" Hakyeon’s mouth is warm against Wongeun’s temple, the shell of his ear. Wongeun, entirely sated, mind blank except for the uncomplicated happiness he feels in Hakyeon’s presence, groans an affirmative and rolls to the side.

He ends up on Hakyeon’s arm, which he finds out when he turns his head to kiss whatever part of Hakyeon is closest and ends up somewhere between Hakyeon’s bicep and his armpit.  "It was that or an in with your designer friend, but I think…this was better." He exhales deeply, a content _whoosh_ of air. Hakyeon shivers when it hits his chest. "Thank you for being here with me, Hakyeon-ah," Wongeun mumbles.

Hakyeon flips over to lie half-on top of Wongeun, pressing his face to Wongeun’s chest. "Happy birthday, my Wongeunnie," Hakyeon sighs, and it comes out muffled, thick with emotion. "I got you a cake. I just…got distracted…" Wongeun, summoning the last of his strength, flings an arm over Hakyeon’s waist to cuddle him closer.

Distantly, Wongeun registers an alarmed feeling at the prospect of Hakyeon in any variety of culinary setting. "You bought it, right?" Wongeun asks. "You didn’t make it? Tell me you didn’t make it."

Hakyeon laughs sleepily. "No." His lips are sloppy and wet against Wongeun’s neck, but Wongeun tilts his chin up regardless. "I asked Eunji what kind of cake you’d want…preferably when we’re cleaner…"

Wongeun, for one, plans on showering and then getting immediately filthy again. It’s his birthday, after all, and he has Hakyeon, and apparently a cake, and hotel housekeeping staff who won’t ask questions about what, by all rights, are very questionable substances all over their bedclothes.

Once they’ve showered, Wongeun coaxes Hakyeon into bed, begging off cake for the moment in favor of an enervated nap. Hakyeon _takes_ coaxing to slow down, to savor a moment while doing nothing in particular, and Wongeun, groggy and triumphant with Hakyeon dozing in his arms, slurs out his best sleepy reassurance.

"We don’t always have to be _doing_ something." Hakyeon, fidgeting against Wongeun’s chest, relaxes just a bit. "You’re still here. I’m still here." Wongeun wraps himself around Hakyeon under the sheets and revels in that knowledge until easy sleep overtakes him.

***

It’s a ploy. Wongeun _knows_ it’s a ploy, because Cha Hakyeon, it must be reiterated, _will cheat at any game within his power_. Hakyeon’s _tongue_ is currently in Wongeun’s _ass_ , though, and it feels too damn good to call Hakyeon on his bullshit right at this moment. He groans and grips the headboard until his hands hurt and his thighs shake and—

"N-Geun," Hakyeon proposes, and God, his _mouth_ , and Wongeun’s been so on edge, so ready to come for so _long_ , and Hakyeon is _cheating_. Wongeun fucks back onto Hakyeon’s tongue and bites back a whimper.

Hakyeon’s hands grip hard at Wongeun’s thighs, and he spreads his legs further, he’s so hard, Hakyeon isn’t _touching_ him, he needs—

"Won-Cha," Wongeun argues when he manages to speak, and then lowers himself to begging. "Fucking _touch me_ , Hakyeon, _please_."

Hakyeon’s answer is a teasing bite to the flesh of Wongeun’s ass, dragging teeth and lips across so that Wongeun’s heavy breath comes just that much heavier.  "Yeon-Geun," Hakyeon counters. "Final offer."

That’s _awful_. Wongeun, arching his back, begging with words and body language for Hakyeon to just _let him get off already, please_ , starts to protest between waves of _need_. "I’m not— _shit_ —letting you expose us to the word as fucking—" He loses the thread of his argument when Hakyeon takes pity on Wongeun, wrapping his hand around Wongeun’s aching cock finger by finger until Wongeun sobs with relief. "— _YeonGeun_ ," Wongeun spits out finally, and, "God, come _here—_ "

He bowls Hakyeon over and straddles one glorious, naked thigh, rutting desperately against Hakyeon, into the tight curl of his fingers, sweat slick on his shaky thighs and Hakyeon’s free hand reaching back to slide the pads of his fingers across—

Wongeun cries out sharply and pitches forward, coming _hard_ across Hakyeon’s stomach, panting harshly in Hakyeon’s ear as it hits in swell after swell of tense-and-release. Before he can fall all the way from the high, into the stupor of post-orgasmic lassitude, Wongeun crawls back down the bed and gets his mouth on Hakyeon, drawing a startled, wrecked noise from his throat.

It’s no time at all from when Wongeun pulls off and demands, "Hakyeon, fuck my mouth," to when he’s swallowing around Hakyeon, sucking harder as Hakyeon comes down his throat, shivering with the force of it.

They lie there, sated and dazed, until Wongeun decides he needs to be clean _now_ and staggers off to the en-suite bathroom to remedy a situation that becomes stickier with every passing minute. When he returns, Hakyeon is on his phone. An ominous feeling curls presciently in Wongeun’s gut.

Wongeun knocks the phone from his hand with a well-aimed towel and snatches it away from where Hakyeon drops it. Hakyeon’s Twitter proudly displays the hashtag _YeonGeun,_ shining that trademark buoyant blue over a picture of the parfaits they’d gotten earlier.

"YeonGeun," Wongeun says flatly. "We’re _YeonGeun_ now." Hakyeon has won through _cheating_. Wongeun shows Hakyeon his own phone as if it will somehow instill a sense of shame in his wayward lover.

Wongeun hopes in vain. "We’ll be YeonGeun on your birthday, too," Hakyeon assures him, far too sweet and far too chipper for someone so thoroughly diabolical.

***

**[2017: January]**

Hakyeon’s clinging skills only seem to improve with time, as he realizes that Wongeun has either _very little_ or _insurmountable_ motivation to extract himself, without many ventures into the territory in-between. Hakyeon, though, tends to err on the side of expecting the latter _._ Wongeun, for the most part, exhibits the former.

They’re running early for their dinner with Jisoo, but only just, because Wongeun has been operating at half-speed, Hakyeon’s limbs wound around him slowing his routine significantly.“Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system,” Wongeun grumbles, and Hakyeon latches himself on tighter, so that Wongeun staggers with the sudden shift in his center of gravity. Hakyeon uses his newfound momentum to get his hands on Wongeun’s thighs, his ass, his hips, and Wongeun indulges him by not moving away. “You want to rub your face on my leg like a cat, too?”

Hakyeon looks to be seriously considering the question, fiddling with the waist of Wongeun’s pants. “I’ve had worse legs than yours in my face,” Hakyeon reasons. “Hazards of the profession.” His arms wind around Wongeun’s waist, and Wongeun hugs him back, thinking about cinematic bed scenes.

“No, no,” he concludes, after flipping through his mental Rolodex for any and all scenes which may have resulted in legs in his face. “I think most bed scenes are pretty much _only_ missionary.” He receives a whack to the chest for his efforts, and then a chaste kiss. “Stop being violent and let me put on my shoes,” Wongeun demands into it, biting gently at Hakyeon’s lower lip. “Wasn’t it you who had a problem with running late?”

“We could tell Jisoo—“ Hakyeon begins, and Wongeun places his finger over Hakyeon’s lips.

“You’ll bitch about it the whole way there,” he observes, and Hakyeon’s eyes narrow up at Wongeun only to be met with a serene, self-assured smile.

Hakyeon folds first. “Fine, fine,” he concedes, in what he probably thinks is a benevolent tone. It comes out closer to grudging, but he parts from Wongeun, who resumes getting ready at a speed much closer to normal.

Wongeun thinks nothing of it when Hakyeon jogs out of the building ahead of him, but when he returns with those old anxious storm clouds brewing at his brow, something jolts low in Wongeun’s gut. “Wait,” Hakyeon sighs, catching Wongeun by the waist on the stairs. “Wait here. There’s…” Another deep, heavy exhale, and Wongeun knows before Hakyeon tells him. He’s been followed. “…There’s a fansite on the street. Let me get rid of her.”

“Here?” he asks incredulously. Hakyeon, in the spotlight for so long, has been desensitized. To Wongeun, it’s New Year’s, at Wongeun’s apartment, in Hakyeon’s rare free time. Wongeun, who isn’t an _official_ part of the life Hakyeon leads as VIXX’s N, who has no affiliation with the camera-clicking swarms who trail him from schedule to schedule, feels a sympathetic weariness inside himself. “That’s not normal,” he tells Hakyeon, because it bears repeating aloud. “You know that’s not _normal_ , right?”

Hakyeon shifts in place, agitated. “I’ll get rid of her,” he promises, words clipped. “Text Jisoo. Tell him,” he adds with an exhausted switch of tone, “we may be running late after all.”

“Hakyeon-ah,” Wongeun calls after him, meaning to reassure Hakyeon that Wongeun isn’t upset with _him_ , but with the situation, but the complex door is already swinging shut behind him.

Wongeun texts Jisoo, omitting the reason for their tardiness, and situates himself on the stairs to wait for Hakyeon. _it’s good, i’ll hold the table,_ Jisoo texts back, and Wongeun locks his phone in favor of breathing through the anxiety, usually kept in check, of treading so constantly close to public recognition. Rumors flying about Wongeun or Hakyeon, as separate units, don’t hold a candle to the potential of photographic evidence. One picture, one person with a big enough voice coming to the wrong, entirely correct conclusion, it could—

The door swings open to admit Hakyeon alongside a bluster of winter air, and Wongeun stands. Hakyeon pulls his coat around himself. “Got it sorted?” Wongeun asks. Hakyeon nods, tense, and Wongeun’s hands drop onto his shoulders, massaging there, trying to project a calm he’s too shaken to feel. Hakyeon closes his eyes and takes a calming breath.

“They’re not supposed to follow us,” he murmurs, frustrated. “They _know_ that.”

Hakyeon isn’t supposed to break the rules, and he knows _that_ , and yet here _he_ is. Wongeun slips his thumbs under the layers of Hakyeon’s clothing to reach bare skin, and Hakyeon relaxes gradually under his touch. Wongeun reassures himself with a false certainty that if they were caught, Hakyeon would not disavow his relationship with Wongeun, as Wongeun would not disavow Hakyeon. Hakyeon has said nothing of the sort; this is not a bridge they’ve considered crossing. Wongeun governs himself by this logic, though, because the other option is…not productive, not conducive to steadying either of their nerves after a brush with publicity.

“Jisoo said he’d hold our table,” Wongeun says after a long moment of silence, and Hakyeon’s lips lift, the mere shadow of a smile. He nods. “I called a taxi. It should be here.”

Hakyeon squeezes Wongeun’s hands in his own before shrugging them off. “She won’t post the photos,” he informs, and Wongeun feels some of his tension drain away. “We’re okay. We’re fine. She doesn’t know.”

Hakyeon’s return to normalcy in the taxi feels forced, but Wongeun appreciates it, allows Hakyeon to distract him with conversation about Haewon’s cat, and Haewon’s new puppy, who _was_ Wongeun’s foster puppy. Wongeun, in a secluded corner of his mind, searches for a way to tell Hakyeon, _I’m not ashamed of you. If it came down to it, I made a promise_.

Hakyeon pays for the taxi, and Wongeun touches his elbow lightly before they step out. “I don’t mind if your group knows,” he admits. “I think they love you as much as you love them.”

Jisoo extends his hand for a handshake just as Hakyeon opens his mouth to reply.

From there, it really is just a return to normalcy. Two friends, out with their colleague, giving Hakyeon hell for having the gall to be older than them. Nary a fansite to be seen, and Wongeun’s fear seeping out of him, replaced bit by unsteady bit with the routine of his life with Hakyeon, such as it is and has always been.

***

**[2016: December]**

Wongeun is jostled unceremoniously into consciousness by the _whump_ of Hakyeon's weight elatedly hitting the pillow beside him. Again. He reaches deep within himself and summons every sleepy bit of indignation lurking in his soul and _lunges_ toward Hakyeon, aiming to wrest the selfie stick from Hakyeon, confiscate it once and for all. "Fuck!" Wongeun swears with the mad vengeance of the truly groggy. "Jesus _Christ_ , you and that selfie stick, warn me, I'm going to find Lee Jaehwan—" the purveyor of the bit of metal and plastic that's currently interrupting Wongeun's post-coital beauty sleep, "—and I'm going to _murder_ him!”

Hakyeon laughs and dives under the covers like this is a _game_ , and Wongeun catches his elbow and hauls him back out. Hakyeon then attempts to squirm his way free by way of Wongeun's armpit, and mostly only succeeds in trapping himself in a headlock. Wongeun flops to the side and pins Hakyeon to the bed, and Hakyeon giggles, helpless, as Wongeun squeezes his wrist until he drops the selfie stick on the bed.

"I was _sleeping,_ " Wongeun whimpers somewhere in the vicinity of Hakyeon's clavicle, his limbs all limp and useless after the sudden exertion of energy he didn't have in the first place. He slides his naked legs absently against Hakyeon's, and instead of the usual entrancing stretch of bronze skin, he meets soft cotton.

Entirely aggrieved, he sits up, scrubbing his hands across his face and pouting at Hakyeon, who's not only disgustingly awake, but also wearing Wongeun's clothes. Hakyeon ruffles Wongeun's hair, and Wongeun grunts. He will deny until his dying breath, or at least until he sleeps next, that he sits up a little straighter to lean into the touch.

"I won't find that on Instagram with 200,000 likes tomorrow, will I?" Wongeun groans, brushing his lips across Hakyeon's fingertips. He resigns himself reluctantly to wakefulness, standing and stretching. Hakyeon darts across the bed to grab a handful of Wongeun's naked ass, and Wongeun jumps, batting Hakyeon's hand away. "Don't grab things you don't want right away," he rebukes, toeing at the clothing strewn on the bedroom floor for something that’s still wearable. Maybe he'll just use Hakyeon's oversized wifebeater as a loincloth as he hunts down the food for which his stomach roars dully.

He chooses a pair of plaid pajama pants—almost certainly his own—from the debris of their wardrobes, tugging them on. When he turns to launch himself back into bed, Hakyeon's frozen in place, kneeling right where he'd been when Wongeun turned his back. Wongeun fits his hand along Hakyeon's jaw and strokes a thumb across his cheekbone.

"What's going on in that mind, Cha Hakyeon," he murmurs, in time with the slow sweep of his thumb past Hakyeon's temple. Hakyeon sits heavily on the bed, collapsing on his own ankle with a wince.

"It's been almost a year," Hakyeon says, as if it's just dawned on him. "A year on the first."

Technically, Wongeun thinks, they'd _started_ kissing before the fireworks. "Or the thirty-first," Wongeun objects mildly, "depending on where you start counting." It _has_ been nearly a year, but it feels shorter if Wongeun measures it solely in the spans of time they've caught around drama and promotion schedules.

It feels, antithetically, much longer if he focuses on each night in turn, stretched out until dawn broke. Each day they've spent doing nothing at all, Wongeun wandering the city with a coffee in one hand and Hakyeon at his other. "It'll be another year next December," Wongeun continues blandly, thinking of a petulant Hakyeon battling with snowflakes in his eyelashes. "That's how time works."

"Next December...?" Hakyeon breathes.

"You have confused-face on," Wongeun prods, gentle, smoothing out the fine lines at the corner of Hakyeon's eye. Hakyeon’s gaze has filled to the brim with question after question, and Wongeun waits patiently for Hakyeon to find words.

Hakyeon opens his mouth, huffs, and closes it again. "You aren't going anywhere," he manages finally, and it doesn't _sound_ like he's asking, but Wongeun knows Hakyeon by now.

"I'm not," Wongeun confirms. Of course he's not. Hakyeon's a part of life Wongeun just... _plans for_ now, not as routine as vet visits or phone calls to his sister, but equally as integral. Taking Hakyeon out would leave cold, empty slots of time, Wongeun lying in his bed alone, pulling blankets tightly around himself to try and ignore how much space he has to stretch out. He doesn't _want_ that space. He wants Hakyeon, all 180-some-odd centimeters of long, lithe dancer's limbs clinging too-hot to Wongeun, taking awful selfies with a contraband selfie stick and cheating at wrestling.

"You...don't seem to have a problem with that," Wongeun adds carefully, and Hakyeon finds his voice again all at once.

"December twenty-seventh," he says in a rush. Wongeun flinches at how suddenly _loud_ Hakyeon becomes, now that he's slid back into his familiar bravado. "December twenty-seventh," he repeats, quietly, intimate in the scant space between them. Light with relief. "The day I'm officially asking you to be mine. Keep being mine. This December, next December." Hakyeon's eyes are bright, so sure Wongeun will say _Yes, why even ask?_ to every December with Hakyeon.

Wongeun's heart jumps into his throat, and Hakyeon's fingers band loosely around Wongeun's wrist, holding his hand against Hakyeon's face. "Hakyeonnie," Wongeun jokes, but it comes out thick with emotion, "are you asking me to be your _nam-chin_?" He sighs shakily. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wongeun is aware that he's going to cry if Hakyeon cries." _Yours._ Cha Hakyeon, you melodramatic dumbass, I already am."

Exasperation and affection run a twin course through his confession, and Hakyeon's _crying_ , tears spilling over onto his cheeks as shivery laughter bubbles out of him. Wongeun swipes Hakyeon's tears away and kisses the shining trails they leave in the wake of his fingers. "I was just going to get a _sandwich,_ God," he laughs. "I really did just want food. I was going to ask if you wanted tea."

"Yes," Hakyeon sniffles, and he leans up to press a watery, chaste kiss to Wongeun's lips. "Yes, I do want tea. Yes."

"Well," Wongeun's voice breaks, tears threatening to fall if this moment draws itself out much longer, "you can make your own."

Hakyeon's watery eyes are so _earnest_ on Wongeun that his heart leaps impossibly higher in his throat. "I'm yours, too," Hakyeon sobs helplessly. "I am." Wongeun senses the way Hakyeon caves in on himself just in time to pull Hakyeon against his chest, crying quietly there as Wongeun pushes his face into Hakyeon's hair and sheds a few silent, exalted tears of his own.

***

**[2016: May]**

_Perhaps_ Wongeun had failed miserably at Hakyeon's on-air test of his dedication. Hakyeon, damp and sullen from the shoot for _Celebrity Bromance_ , had perked right up when Wongeun selected a few pricey calla lilies the exact gem tone of Hakyeon's hair in their last music video. He holds them delicately, close to his chest, on the drive home, and he moves them carefully out of the way as Wongeun leans down to kiss Hakyeon slow and thorough.

Hakyeon smells like lake water. His hair is a mess, and he's dingy from a day out sweating in the sun. His lips are rough and lightly chapped. Wongeun, entirely regardless of all these facts, is content to keep kissing Hakyeon until necessity demands he pull away for pesky, pesky oxygen. He lifts the flowers out of Hakyeon's arms, pressing a last, quick kiss to Hakyeon's lips. "You smell like a lake," he observes with a grin, and turns on his heel to march into the kitchen and find a vase for the flowers.

Cry of outrage from Hakyeon, who stalks after him. "So do you!" he shouts. He fits himself against Wongeun's back and makes himself as much of a hindrance as someone his size can be. Which turns out to be _quite_ a hindrance, really, because what Hakyeon lacks in size he brings to bear in his sheer determination to be the best at everything, including his impression of a limpet.

"Yah, Wongeun," he whines, and Wongeun extracts an arm to snip stems, whacking Hakyeon's clinging arm safely away from the kitchen shears. "Shower with me. Wongeun. Shower with me. You smell like wet dog." Wongeun feels Hakyeon's weight shift in a slow slide upwards, and when he turns his head, Hakyeon's face is there, intimately close.

"Patience isn't your strong suit, Cha Hakyeon," he admonishes wryly, but his censure is weakened considerably by the way he executes an awkward sideways maneuver to meet Hakyeon's lips in a kiss. Hakyeon may want a shower, but Wongeun is hungry. "Don't you want to eat something first?" Wongeun tries, and before he even finishes asking, he knows he's misstepped.

Hakyeon's lips spread into a slow smirk, and before he can cast his eyes pointedly down, Wongeun sighs. " _Aish_ , fine. Shower first. But you have to make the food after."

"By that," Hakyeon corrects in the tone of benevolent compromise, "you mean I order the takeout." Hakyeon hasn't compromised a bit. He's just gotten his way. Wongeun finishes up with the flowers and gives Hakyeon the undivided attention he wants in the form of a languid, lush kiss, Hakyeon's body dropping all its tension as he kisses back, moaning low in his throat.

Wongeun brushes his mouth across Hakyeon's high cheekbones, up to his forehead. "Thai food," he demands, with another firm kiss to silence any incoming protests. "You can ask them to make it _not_ _spicy_. You do this every time." Hakyeon, who has no stomach for spicy food, has made it his goal to die on this particular hill.

Wongeun is willing to let him, especially when, true to form, his next argument is, "You ask for Thai food every time," which is an out-and-out lie. Wongeun raises an eyebrow and doesn't indulge Hakyeon, because the possible outcomes here are either _shower sex and Thai food_ or _no shower sex and no Thai food,_ and Hakyeon likes to cheat at any game within his power, but he's as predictable as he is gorgeous.

Wongeun, for what it’s worth, just likes having Hakyeon pliant and relaxed against him, and he takes his time washing Hakyeon's hair, massaging firm fingertips over Hakyeon's scalp, letting his hands wander as Hakyeon sighs and leans back against him. Hakyeon insists on returning the favor and they make lazy small talk about Wongeun's sister, who _has_ convinced Wongeun to take in a foster dog, as the spray of the water beats down around them.

"All clean," Wongeun teases, once they're wrapped up in each other again, the day's sweat and sunscreen rinsed down the drain. "Time to get out."

Hakyeon throws his weight forward and Wongeun's breath leaves him in a delighted laugh as his back hits the tile of the shower wall. "Uh-uh," Hakyeon chides, and kisses Wongeun filthy and open, his stage-smirk at odds with the gentle reproach in his voice. "It's my day off from dieting. I get to have dessert before dinner."

Another laugh startles out of Wongeun, and he cringes, curling in on himself as far as he can. "That's an awful line." Hakyeon's head drops as he laughs, too, the sound of it vibrating against Wongeun's neck, and he sucks a kiss there, and Wongeun's all at once _very_ aware and very eager, up for whatever Hakyeon wants from him.  
  
There's always a hint of reverence in the way Hakyeon goes down on Wongeun, like Hakyeon's still a little shocked that he's allowed this, that Wongeun, far from pulling away, will lean into every touch, remind Hakyeon on every heaving exhale how beautiful he is, how _good,_ how lucky Wongeun is to have Hakyeon. It's all wet and slick and perfect, and Wongeun's pushed that last bit over the edge by the anticipation that soon he'll be doing this to Hakyeon, pinning his slim hips against the shower wall and sucking him off until his knees go weak and his throaty voice echoes off the tiles.

They get Thai food. Hakyeon glares balefully at Wongeun as he requests over the phone that his tom kha be _as unspicy as possible_. Still, he puts away their dishes when they finish, and still he curls up against Wongeun's chest and dozes off with Wongeun on the couch.

***

**[2016: January]**

"Just put your coat anywhere," Wongeun says on autopilot when they reach Wongeun's one-bedroom. His hand falls on Hakyeon's shoulder, squeezing gently as he takes a closer look at Hakyeon's coat, definitely too expensive for Wongeun’s couch arm, and reconsiders. "Or there's a coat closet in the hallway, and I'll take your coat, like a good host."

Hakyeon shrugs off Wongeun's hand and his topcoat all at once. "You don't have to," he replies quickly. "I can find my way."

"It's just past the sofa," Wongeun explains as Hakyeon peers around the living room, into the kitchen off to his left. That's where Wongeun gravitates, promising to figure out the champagne.

The bottle is just as perplexing as Wongeun remembers it being, and Hakyeon makes his way into the kitchen right as Wongeun pulls out his phone. Perhaps Hakyeon knows how to safely open champagne.

"Do _you_ know how to open champagne?" Wongeun asks wryly, and Hakyeon laughs, leaning a hip against the counter.

"I don't," he confesses, and Wongeun employs Occam's razor and asks Siri. Siri tells them to drape a towel over it and twist the bottom, and Hakyeon's expression shifts to wary skepticism. "I'm not doing that. Something will _explode_. You do it."

"If something explodes," Wongeun levels, "and I die, I bequeath you nothing except those empty champagne flutes." Hakyeon's only response is to move farther back as Wongeun carefully twists the cork free. A few seconds and a dull _pop_ later, Wongeun crows gleefully and tosses the dish towel aside. He retrieves two of the glasses and is disabused of the notion that _opening_ it was the hard part when he sets about _pouring_ it. Foam threatens to douse him and the counter both, and he bites his lip and reminds himself that this is a skill functional adults should have.

Hakyeon, relief sinking into the curve of his body against the counter, takes the champagne flute Wongeun proffers. "I think," he evaluates, "that went much better than it could have. Should we turn on the pre-show?"

Hakyeon may be fooling everyone else in his life, but Wongeun knows his game. He snorts. "You mean the Home Shopping Channel?" _Clink_ of their glasses together before they drink, Hakyeon's dissent condensing down to a single indignant noise.

"I watch other things," he whines, and Wongeun blinks at Hakyeon, unimpressed and bovine.

"Year-old dramas are not _other things_ ," Wongeun asserts.

"I'm busy!" Hakyeon justifies himself. "I don't have time to—"

"Excuses," Wongeun cuts in, and Hakyeon looks scandalized. "I watch your videos."

"You watch my videos _once._ " Tone of deep censure. Wongeun summons his best incredulous expression, mirroring Hakyeon's lean against the counter to face him more fully.

"And exactly how many times do you watch dramas?" he asks Hakyeon wryly, and the petulant pout that twists Hakyeon's fine features signals a win to Wongeun. He swaggers out of the kitchen to turn on the television, Hakyeon's eyes sharp on his back, and they watch each other and drink in silence as the commentators laud the year-end performances, anticipating the fireworks show.

Hakyeon, midway through his second glass of champagne, is the first to speak. "God, I've missed you," he murmurs, quiet into the negative space between them. Wongeun leans back against the counter next to Hakyeon and casts a furtive glance at Hakyeon out of the corner of his eye.

"I know." Hakyeon had said as much, earlier.

"I'm not sorry," he continues, bolder. His glass rings against the counter, making a wet little circle where it comes to rest. "I—it's selfish of me."

Hakyeon moves to stand before Wongeun, head tipping back to look up at him, questions and conflict writ large across his face and in every centimeter of his bearing. Wongeun’s packed-away adoration, moved aside to make room for careful, platonic affection, surges out of its confines to spill messily over. He presses his lips together as his heart throbs uncomfortably high in his throat.

Waits. Dares Hakyeon to speak, cross that space between them in a newer, irrevocable way.

"It's so selfish of me," Hakyeon repeats, in awe at himself. He lifts to his tiptoes, and his next words are a shaky exhale against Wongeun's lips. "But _God_ , if it's selfish of me to have you, I want to be so selfish, _Wongeun_."

Wongeun throws his hand out to the side to put down his glass, Hakyeon crashing into his arms, kissing him fiercely, and Wongeun groans, clutching Hakyeon to himself, bending down to meet Hakyeon where he strains up on his toes. Hakyeon's hands are tight fists in Wongeun's shirt, hauling him back in every time they separate for a desperate drag of air, pulling Wongeun down so Hakyeon can kiss his way slick down Wongeun's jaw, hot up his neck, dotting barely-there against his chin.

It's too _much_ , to receive this all at once, when he's long accepted the loss of what could never be. Wongeun hugs Hakyeon tight, burying his face in hair still stiff from product as Hakyeon's lips slow to a stop under Wongeun's ear. Hakyeon's arms band fretfully around Wongeun's waist, and he rests his head on Wongeun's shoulder, melting against him, breathing hard.

"Thank you," Wongeun whispers into Hakyeon's hair, all he can think to say. Hakyeon trembles in Wongeun's arms, and Wongeun marvels, not for the first time, at how _brave_ Hakyeon is.

 _"Up next..."_ the commentators' voices float in from the living room, reeling off a list of rookie bands.

Hakyeon laughs breathily, his shoulders still shaking under Wongeun's arms. "We missed the fireworks."

12:03 a.m., the clock on the microwave declares damningly.

"We did," he concurs. "I can't say I regret it much."

Hakyeon's lips meet Wongeun's slower now, desirous, and the edge of the counter digs into Wongeun's hips as Hakyeon's weight pushes him back. The lustful undercurrent of long-past kisses makes its return, more intense, smoldering instead of raging, Hakyeon's teeth almost lazy where they tease at Wongeun's ear.

"Do you want," Hakyeon asks, and now it's Wongeun's turn to borrow Hakyeon's line, breathed out without even needing to think.

"Why even ask," he kisses into the warm skin of Hakyeon's neck, "when you know I'll say yes?"

***

**[2015: December]**

His phone pings. His sister, sending her daily spam of foster puppies she wants Wongeun to take in so that she can live vicariously through Wongeun under the guise of _little brother, you shouldn't be alone so much_. Wongeun sends his promise that he'll _consider it_ , _noona,_ sometime he's not running late for a 10:15 p.m. dinner date.

Wongeun checks his coat and explains to an overcaffeinated maître d' that yes, he has a reservation for two, yes, under Lee Wongeun. The other party is here already.

Hakyeon's eyes are puffy, and he's missed a tiny swipe of stage makeup at his jaw, under his right ear. The smile he gives Wongeun though, once Wongeun makes his winding way to their table on the heels of the maître d'—it's radiant. Hakyeon's phone is in his hand, buzzing angrily.

"Trouble in paradise?" Wongeun jokes, and Hakyeon turns his phone so Wongeun can see his flood of messages, all reading _JIN IS HERE,_ devolving into incoherency before a single sent message from Hakyeon. _Give taekwoonie his phone back, seokjin-ah_. The final message, timestamped right before Wongeun had sat down, is a drunken, triumphant declaration that _bts jinis pa y ing for all the booze._

"Are they all out, then?" Wongeun asks, laughing to himself. The sommelier and waiter wend their way to the table, and Hakyeon asks Wongeun if pinot noir is acceptable. Wongeun, deep in contemplation of the dessert menu, acquiesces absently. He points out an entree and a dessert, and their menus are taken away.

Wongeun scans Hakyeon's face and shoulders for any hint of that uneasy tension from two months ago and finds none of it. He suppresses a smile as Hakyeon squirms, taking a drink of his water and clearing his throat.

"Wonshik took some convincing," Hakyeon picks up their conversation. "He wanted to make sure I was going out before he'd leave." His eyes skid from Wongeun's eyes, to his lips, to his chest, head tilting to the side as if committing Wongeun's features to memory.

"Who'd you send him out with?" Wongeun asks, and Hakyeon remembers himself, sitting up straight, a light flush high in his cheeks.

"Oh, Wonshikkie only has two friends," Hakyeon confesses dotingly. "Taemin and Kai." Wongeun can't quite hold in his astonished reaction. Hakyeon hides a laugh behind his hand. "Some of the things about idols are right. We do all...seem to know each other."

 _Taemin and Kai_ , Hakyeon had said simply, because to Hakyeon, it's perfectly run-of-the-mill for his members to spend their holidays with the faces Wongeun sees plastered all over the city. Hakyeon probably knows someone who knows someone who's slept with G-Dragon. Hakyeon could be out with every other famous, pretty person who performed at the gayo festival tonight, and he's sitting here, giggling at Wongeun in a bustling winery.

"I have a feeling," Wongeun begins, once he's collected himself, "that I could be invited to all the same events as you, and we'd still somehow manage to have completely different circles." Hakyeon shrugs. His hand drops, and his smile washes over Wongeun like sunlight.

"That may be true," Hakyeon simpers, and the conversation lulls, their food and wine arriving.

Hakyeon manages to make an ass of himself by choking on his first draft of wine, launching into an overwrought coughing fit as Wongeun tries and fails to stop his laughter. "Every time you drink," Wongeun gets out helplessly, "you tell me you can't drink." He breaks off, wheezing. "And every time, you manage to prove it in a new way." Wongeun chuckles a few more times. Hakyeon, still coughing, glowers at him across the table. "Should I be worried?"

"I should have—" Cough, cough. "—gone out with Wonshik," Hakyeon mutters darkly. Wongeun takes a deep breath, exhaling it heavily to stop himself laughing too hard.

He lifts his own glass, a mock toast. "Your continued excellent health and piss-poor drinking." Hakyeon, despite himself, accepts the toast, laughing into his glass. His wine goes down without complication this time. "May you prove it to me over and over," Wongeun finishes, and drains his glass as Hakyeon does the same.

Hakyeon flushes, suddenly riveted by his dinner. "You don't drink any better than I do," he whines down at the steamed vegetables on his plate, and Wongeun slides Hakyeon's glass toward himself to refill them both.

"Yes, but I'm better at hiding it," Wongeun confides. He watches Hakyeon take another drink of wine, fully prepared for it to go terribly awry, and Hakyeon notices him watching. His face screws up peevishly. "Careful, you'll get stuck like that," Wongeun teases, and Hakyeon twists his lips against a smile.

Hakyeon is quiet for a beat too long, and Wongeun's question is on his lips— _What are you thinking, Cha Hakyeon?_ Hakyeon answers without being asked. "I missed you," he murmurs, affection thick and sweet in his voice. The waiter brings the check, and Wongeun plucks it away from Hakyeon's grasping hand.

"I missed you," Wongeun ripostes, resting his chin on his hand and lifting an eyebrow at Hakyeon. He makes a snap decision, steeped in wine and the ache of missing his friend, and adds, "I told you I would."

He had, on the night neither of them has mentioned since, tiptoeing around their own desperation. Now, at the end of the year, when it can finally be laid to rest, Hakyeon's eyes are bright and he leans into Wongeun as they leave the restaurant with a murmur of, "I believe you." He reaches out to get a photo of them together, and Wongeun leans away after, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Where to now?" Hakyeon asks, taking Wongeun by surprise as he calls a taxi. "My whole night is free. It's only..." Hakyeon checks his phone. "11:15."

" _I'm_ going to go home and watch the fireworks," Wongeun explains. "One of my friends sent me champagne." He doesn't know how to open it, but it's in his fridge all the same, the four flutes in their gift bag taking up space on his kitchen counter.

He doesn't want to leave Hakyeon here any more than Hakyeon wants to part from him. Wongeun steels himself and offers, "You're welcome to come with me."

It turns out that his worry was for nothing when Hakyeon answers, without even leaving space to mull it over. "Why even ask, when you know I'll say yes?" He's still flushed, his breath puffing out white in the chill night air, and he climbs into the taxi beside Wongeun. Wongeun may be imagining it, head spinning from wine, but it seems that something…shifts.

***

The newly-fragile form of their friendship gradually reinforces itself over the month and a half Hakyeon is busy dawn-to-dusk. Wongeun has always known, on the surface, that Hakyeon is a man who wears many hats—idol, brother, student, MC. This is the first time Wongeun has truly witnessed the chaotic hurtle of Hakyeon's life, from a distance, over the texts and calls they manage to exchange on Hakyeon's journeys between schedules.

In a way, nothing has changed. By unspoken agreement, neither of them mentions their last night together. In return, Wongeun watches Hakyeon fall back into the familiar, comfortable rapport they've built, escaping in short bursts from his hectic day-to-day.

Wongeun doesn't realize until after he's asked Hakyeon to dinner on the last day of the year that Hakyeon will likely be performing. Gayo Daejejeon, Hakyeon had mentioned something about Gayo Daejejeon.

Wongeun sits in his office and flags the scripts his manager has left according to his level of interest. He runs a few errands, and cooks dinner, and by the time he crawls into bed for the night, Hakyeon still hasn't replied. His group was scheduled to film some Christmas-themed video; perhaps it's run over time. Anxiety flutters low in Wongeun's stomach until he falls asleep.

 _There was a lot of soju to work through,_ Wongeun's phone reads in the morning. _Why even ask? Of course I want to eat with you. We'll be back from performing probably 10pm. When and where?_

Wongeun sends back the name of a local winery, and _after you're done with your festival performance_ , and Hakyeon sends a string of elated emoticons, and Wongeun smiles into his coffee. He flags _Good Wife_ with a yellow tab and starts reading another screenplay.

***

**[2015: November]**

Hakyeon is holding himself differently tonight.

Wongeun looks up from fussing with the electric kettle to see Hakyeon closing the door behind him, moving efficiently, clipped, not at all in the easy manner he's adopted with Wongeun. He greets Wongeun with the same handshake and hug as always, but doesn't dally there. Wongeun, assuming it has something to do with the stress of VIXX's looming comeback, lets Hakyeon go without complaint.

Nothing has changed between them; Hakyeon, no matter how worn-out he's been, has consistently, eagerly made time for Wongeun. Mondays and Tuesdays, 10 p.m.

Wongeun plops down on the couch and starts surfing channels toward KBS2. Hakyeon reaches over and steals the remote, flipping to the Home Shopping Channel in a familiar battle of wills. Wongeun rolls his eyes.

"What's this?" Hakyeon asks, gesturing to the teacups and electric kettle, the same peach-flavored herbal tea from their first outing as friends. Wongeun doesn't meet Hakyeon's eyes, instead returning his attention to the electric kettle, boiling now.

"You prefer tea," Wongeun says, and it sticks in his throat. He sets about making two cups of tea. Peach for Hakyeon. Green for himself. "Your song drops on the tenth?" Hum of affirmation from behind him. "So you probably won't be here next week." Wongeun hadn't expected the odd, bereft feeling throbbing behind his ribs. He clears his throat. "Thought you'd appreciate..."

Hakyeon takes the mug of tea Wongeun gives him. He smiles at Wongeun, and it's strained, doesn't ever reach his eyes. He turns back to the television and busies himself flipping back to KBS2.

"I do," Hakyeon murmurs into his mug, after a long pause. "Thank you, Wongeunnie." His voice is quieter with every sentence, so unlike _Hakyeon_ that it twists painfully in Wongeun's chest. "I'm...very grateful."

Wongeun's sure the smile he gives Hakyeon is just as hollow as the one Hakyeon had given him.

They sit in stilted silence until the gentle opening notes of the _Cheer Up_ theme.

This, at least, is unchanged. For the hour that the episode persists, Wongeun can ignore the tension crackling in the air in favor of wry observations about acting. The time passes differently with tea than with soju, though, and the end credits roll and they're left sitting in silence heavy with their imminent separation.

Wongeun speaks just to break it. "You won't be here next week?"

"No," Hakyeon replies. "We'll be up all night working. I'm sorry."

He's _sorry_. Wongeun laughs humorlessly. "No, don't apologize for doing your job." That's what it is, Wongeun realizes, but it doesn't spark any sense of triumph in him. He's been in the presence of VIXX's N tonight, not _just Cha Hakyeon_. Wongeun has grown to look forward to every moment he can steal with Hakyeon and hoard to himself, but he hasn't had any of them tonight.

"I'll miss you," Wongeun finally manages, at the same time as Hakyeon starts to say, "We shouldn't see each other anymore."

Cold disbelief freezes Wongeun's heart, a feeling like missing a stair. So sure he'll fall and hurt himself, only to catch himself midway, his heart still pounding.

Before Wongeun can say _okay_ , Hakyeon lunges across the space separating them and kisses Wongeun.

A soft, startled noise rises past the dam in Wongeun's throat, and Hakyeon pulls away, looking horrified. No, looking _terrified_ , scared of Wongeun's response, and Wongeun just wants to be kissing Hakyeon again, and Hakyeon wants to kiss _Wongeun_ , and Wongeun's chest is tight as he breathes, "Oh, thank God," and drops a hand at the nape of Hakyeon's neck.

Hakyeon's lips are warm and pliant, Hakyeon himself going boneless and submissive as Wongeun languidly licks his way into Hakyeon's mouth, sucking luxuriantly at Hakyeon's lower lip as Hakyeon's hand grips hard at Wongeun's bicep and Hakyeon kisses back hungrily.

"You taste like lavender," Hakyeon whispers when they part to snatch a short, humid breath, and Wongeun smiles, disbelieving, as Hakyeon comes back for more. Wongeun's hand is firm against Hakyeon's jaw as he hums, guiding Hakyeon into a sultry dip and roll of tongues, the kind of filthy kiss he wants to press all over Hakyeon.

He's made it clear that he _adores_ Hakyeon, holds close every moment Hakyeon carves out for Wongeun. He wants there to be no doubt left in Hakyeon's mind that Wongeun _wants_ Hakyeon, too, the same way Hakyeon wants him.

Hakyeon climbs onto Wongeun's lap and seizes control of the kiss, his arms draped over Wongeun's shoulders as he moans, short, quiet against Wongeun's lips, broken, needy little sounds. He pulls Wongeun closer, and Wongeun wraps his arms around Hakyeon, the gentle stroke of his hands down Hakyeon's spine at odds with the desperation of their kiss.

Their hips brush together, desire meeting hot desire. Hakyeon rears back, scrambling to his feet, gasping. "I—" he pants, and Wongeun's first instinct is to _worry_ , because Hakyeon's not holding himself robotically as he was earlier. Now, he curls in on himself, arms banding around his own waist as if physically holding himself together.

"I _can’t,_ ” Hakyeon sobs, and Wongeun stands, sighing and drawing Hakyeon carefully into his arms. Hakyeon pushes his face against Wongeun's chest, and Wongeun rubs Hakyeon's back, shoulder to shoulder, as Hakyeon shivers. Hakyeon has been so _frightened_ , Wongeun marvels. Frightened of rejection, frightened of possession.

Frightened, likely, that Wongeun will hate him. If not for simply _wanting_ Wongeun, then for breaking off a clandestine affair before it can start. Wongeun shushes Hakyeon fondly, says, "You know I'm still your friend. You know that." He'll take whatever Hakyeon is willing to give, just as he's done since the first time he asked Hakyeon to late-night coffee.

Hakyeon's shivering quiets and his weight sinks more fully against Wongeun. He takes several deep breaths, and soon he pulls away.

He looks so _lost_.

Wongeun holds his arms out, and when Hakyeon rushes in again, Wongeun hugs him obligingly, tight against Wongeun's chest as Hakyeon clings to him. Hakyeon's wiry arms are stronger than they look.

"Manager-hyung will be waiting for me outside," Hakyeon whispers, muffled against Wongeun's shirt. Wongeun squeezes Hakyeon one last time and lets him go.

"Go on, then," he teases bracingly. "I'll be around. I'm getting better at guessing their voices." Wongeun switches his phone from _vibrate_ to _silent_ as Hakyeon leaves, preparing to throw himself into the nearest available distraction.

Starting tomorrow.

***

**[2015: October]**

Wongeun gets to the TV-bang first, so he pays. Hakyeon shows up and shoots a disapproving look at the card reader. Wongeun, fully aware that bickering matches between Wongeun and Hakyeon over _who pays_ end in Wongeun laughing as Hakyeon sulks regardless of their outcome, chooses not to engage. He follows an attendant to their room, Hakyeon hovering at his heels.

"If you'd waited _five minutes_ ," Hakyeon tiptoes to mutter in Wongeun's ear, and Wongeun shudders.

" _Hakyeon-hyung_ ," he hisses back. "If it matters that much to you, you can pay for all the rest of the episodes." Hakyeon, pleased to have gotten his way, drops back to follow Wongeun into their room. Wongeun presses his lips together against a smile.

"I've heard that the upper limit of what we can count at sight is seven," Hakyeon muses as Wongeun thanks the attendant and shuts the door. Hakyeon is standing in front of the sofa, staring warily down at the low coffee table, bottles of soju and water arranged in a triangle. "That means there are probably more than seven bottles on that table." Wongeun breezes past Hakyeon to sink onto the farthest cushion, scrolling through channels until KBS2 is playing _The Stars Are Shining._

Hakyeon is still staring at the table. Wongeun taps the lid of each water bottle. "These five are water." Neither of them can drink for shit, he doesn't point out, so whatever embarrassing things Hakyeon did after a couple of bottles of soju would likely be met blow for blow by Wongeun himself.

Wongeun pats the cushion beside him. "What time is it?"

"Twelve 'til," Hakyeon offers after a glance at his watch. Still, he doesn't sit. Wongeun pats the cushion again, more insistently. Hakyeon meets Wongeun's gaze for a lingering moment and then rolls his eyes, sitting neatly beside Wongeun and crossing his ankles. Wongeun raises an eyebrow and lets some of his repressed smile slip through his control.

The soju glasses are stacked neatly on a shelf beneath the table, and Wongeun rummages around and sets one in front of each of them, breaking out the first round of soju by the time _The Stars Are Shining_ cuts to late-night advertising—which Hakyeon, Wongeun notices, watches raptly.

Wongeun lifts his glass to his lips. Hakyeon, intent on a flashing infomercial, pays him no mind.

"I always drink when I watch myself on TV," Wongeun explains, apropos of nothing, and finishes his shot. Hakyeon startles out of his reverie as Wongeun pours a second. "It saves my friends the trouble of coming up with a drinking game."

"Why not watch this one with your friends?" Hakyeon challenges, running a light fingertip around the rim of his still-full shot glass.

 _I don't understand the question_ , Wongeun bites back, and lets the words instead display in the long, appraising elevator look he gives Hakyeon. Hakyeon looks genuinely at a loss, and Wongeun quirks a brow and smiles indulgently.

"Hakyeon-hyung," he begins, patient, "how many times have we been out in the last two months?" Wongeun doesn't expect an answer—he'd have a hard time counting up dinners and coffees and short shopping trips on demand, as well—but Hakyeon looks prepared to give one. "I want to watch this one with you," Wongeun cuts Hakyeon off before he's swallowed up by maths. "That's why I accepted your invitation. And if you don't want that soju, give it here. Show's about to start."

Wongeun knows he's won, smoothed out Hakyeon's ruffled plumage, when Hakyeon pouts at him, pulling a smile from that pool of endeared feeling in Wongeun's chest. Hakyeon tips his head back and downs his shot all at once, just to be contrary, and Wongeun beckons for the empty glass so he can refill it.

Hakyeon relaxes visibly as he sips at his second shot, pulling a face as the premiere of _Cheer Up_ is announced and its opening theme begins. Hakyeon sinks back into the couch cushions, slanting a bit toward Wongeun, the way Wongeun imagines Hakyeon sits next to his members.

For all his usual banter, Hakyeon watches the drama mutely, concentration in the lines of his face as Wongeun keeps up his accustomed running commentary. Occasionally, Wongeun will direct a question to Hakyeon, who answers distractedly and shifts his attention to Wongeun, only remembering to watch the drama after Wongeun catches him staring.

Hakyeon finally shows up onscreen, and Wongeun laughs as Hakyeon blinks at himself dribbling a basketball. "Oh, _you!_ It's you, hyung!"

"I look darker on camera," Hakyeon observes, as if it's a conclusion he's come to, and Wongeun takes a leaf from Hakyeon's book and stares at him, considering. Maybe his skin _is_ darker on camera, but in the sea of things Wongeun has noticed about Hakyeon, it's hopelessly awash amid more important details. Hakyeon's profession, even more than Wongeun's, relies on _appeal_. Wongeun manages to forget sometimes, complacent in Hakyeon's casual defiance of Wongeun's expectations.

"What?" Hakyeon asks, as Wongeun pours more soju for himself, leaning to the side to study Hakyeon's face.

Wongeun shrugs. "I don't think I ever really noticed," he admits. "I guess it matters more when you have to be gorgeous professionally."

Hakyeon defies his expectations frequently, but in this one, Wongeun has predicted Hakyeon's immediate protest spot-on. "I do lots of other things professionally, too—"

"Yes, and you're very good at all of them, I know," Wongeun placates, emphasizing with his shot glass. Soju sloshes over the side to land sticky and cold on his hand. He searches for words to soothe Hakyeon, to make it clear that Wongeun is not here just for the idol, that he sees VIXX's N _and_ Cha Hakyeon, intertwined as they are. "I didn't take VIXX's N out for coffee, though," Wongeun settles. "Or anywhere else, really."

Hakyeon's expression opens up, astonished. He falls silent and still for a long moment before his head sinks into his hand, his voice coming out breathy on a tipsy laugh. "I don't even really like to play basketball." Swallow of soju. "Hongbin likes to play basketball."

"You like to dance," Wongeun agrees, recalling every video of Hakyeon doing what he loves most. "And steal erotica."

Hakyeon stiffens, panicked, his words flooding out. "That was _one time_ and Wonshik didn't even notice—"

Wongeun can't hear him over the sound of his own laughter. "I didn't tattle on you, Cha Hakyeon," Wongeun giggles. "I don't even have his number." Hakyeon's renewed pout just makes everything funnier, and Wongeun calms as Hakyeon flushes, looking pointedly back to the television screen as if to say _I'm not speaking to you_.

By the time the episode winds down, they've each made their way through two bottles of soju, and Hakyeon sways a bit in place when he stands. Wongeun steadies him with hands at his shoulders, and Hakyeon's breath whooshes out on a heavy exhale. Wongeun squeezes Hakyeon's biceps reassuringly, leaning down to turn off the TV.

Hakyeon weaves his way out to the parking lot with Wongeun's hand strategically placed at the small of his back, making sure he keeps walking a relatively direct path to the lot where his manager waits. "Same time tomorrow, yeah?" Wongeun asks, and Hakyeon attempts to meet Wongeun's eyes, groaning and pushing his face into the sleeve of Wongeun's coat when he gets dizzy from looking up so far.

Still, Hakyeon confirms that they'll meet here again at the same time for episode two, and a happy, quiet content warms Wongeun as he calls a taxi and heads home.

***

**[2015: August]**

Indistinctly, in the background of Hakyeon's meandering explanation of the plot modifications he'd make to the drama he's watching, someone is yelling about tiramisu.

It's a trend in Hakyeon's voice memos to Wongeun. Regardless of the hour, _someone_ is yelling. Some voices more often than others, but always yelling. It's no wonder Hakyeon could get work done on a busy drama set; he's so practiced in the art of ignoring his surroundings that he never even notices the screaming until Wongeun points it out. It's hilarious, in the beleaguered way Hakyeon's life is always hilarious.

 _why is there always someone screaming in the background of your voice memos?_ Wongeun texts, as the line to the Starbucks counter grinds to a halt. Wongeun peruses the menu and wonders whether he hates himself enough to order the plain green tea Hakyeon favors, just because it's healthier than an Americano.

 _They expel their excess talent from their lungs,_ Hakyeon replies almost immediately, and, _We have a lot of talent to go around._ Wongeun snorts, his eyebrow quirking. Hakyeon's received this particular skeptical look enough that he'll know it at once from the closeup selfie Wongeun sends in response.

The line shifts up one place. Hakyeon sends a link, and the video preview reads _VIXX LR - Beautiful Liar_. Wongeun fishes his headphones out of the bag at his side and quickly discovers that the L-R stands for the members involved, neither of whom is Hakyeon. It's a good song and a well-shot music video, and Wongeun says as much, though he feels the need to point out Hakyeon's distinct absence from this video he'd sent as proof of his group's talent.

 _it's good_. _you're not in it_.

Wongeun places his order for an Americano with an extra shot of espresso, out of pure spite, before Hakyeon responds. _It's good because I'm not in it?_ Hakyeon sends, and Wongeun moves to wait in front of the bar and rolls his eyes, already typing.

 _you made me watch an hour's worth of fancams of yourself hyung_. Hakyeon had, sending video after video, and Wongeun had watched them all dutifully, gobsmacked at the gaping chasm between the man who smirked lasciviously from every stage and the man who batted his eyelashes aggressively at Wongeun until Wongeun agreed to buy a scarf for one of his members.

Wongeun had exacted revenge by dragging Hakyeon and his company credit card into the nearest boba tea shop.

 _What was it you said? You make assumptions about idols_. Wongeun settles at a table tucked into the corner and pulls out his laptop before answering.

 _not anymore. and i definitely don't make assumptions about you, cha hakyeon._ Wongeun has resigned himself to the giddy excitement that comes with each new thing he learns about Hakyeon. Hakyeon only confuses him more with every passing day, and somehow endears himself to Wongeun nonetheless. It's the kind of brimming feeling that has Wongeun muttering to his reflection that he _ought to sort himself out, really, Lee Wongeun._

Of course, it's only once Wongeun has busied himself answering work emails that another voice memo comes through from Hakyeon. The screaming has transformed itself into what sounds like... _Chess: The Musical_.

"Cheer Up _will be airing soon_ ," Hakyeon's voice filters tinnily through Wongeun's phone speaker. " _We should watch it together_."

Wongeun plays it again. That's definitely _Chess._

 _maybe a tv-bang instead of your place_ , he stipulates. _is that one night in bangkok?_

 _Yes. It is One Night in Bangkok_.

Wongeun's little catalogue of Hakyeon things expands by another item, and, true to form, Wongeun is just that much more baffled by the life and character of Cha Hakyeon.

***

**[2015: July]**

Wongeun's shoulders are worn out, of all things. Eunji's weight has grown solider and solider at his back as the hour has worn on, bearable easing into unbearable. Wongeun sighs and lets her legs drop back to the ground as they cut to a short break.

The extras for the scene disperse to raid what remains of the catering trays, and Jisoo mumbles something to Wongeun about calling his manager before trudging off toward the reserved parking lot. Eunji smiles grimly at Wongeun and grips his arm, extending her phone for a quick photo. "Look alive, oppa," she yawns, and Wongeun gives the phone his least winning smile. "I really—" Her words are swallowed up by another yawn. "—really should be at home. Unnie will have kittens."

"Which unnie?" Wongeun asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulders against the brisk night air. "Hakyeon or Chorong?"

"All of them," Eunji sighs, and Wongeun laughs hollowly.

Cha Hakyeon has run away to his chair again. He's immersed in his phone, clutching a styrofoam cup of tea even though Inyoung had sent Wongeun a coffee truck. A frown of concentration has made its home on Hakyeon's brow as he stares intently at his phone, breathing in the steam from his tea.

It's Hakyeon's default state, while the other actors idle. Hakyeon is constantly on his phone, his laptop, that frown popping up as his eyes scan screen after screen until he's called to—

"Places," an AFM calls, and then, " _Places!_ " Wongeun jostles Eunji a bit under his arm and she livens up a little, and Wongeun guides her back to starting marks for the scene.

He knows, in his logical brain, that he's only had to carry Eunji in ten or so times. Had the same argument with Jisoo maybe five times. In his dog-tired brain, though, it seems like he's been having this conversation over and over since the beginning of the day, and he'll be having this conversation until death releases him. Eunji's head rests heavy on his shoulder and he turns to see her eyes drooping perilously low, right before they cut.

Wongeun supports Eunji as she drops to her feet, steadying her in place with his hands on her arms. "You good, Eunji-yah?" he laughs, and she pouts childishly up at him.

The director is declaring that the shoot is over for the day, and they can all just hope they've got the footage they need. Eunji's manager, flanked by the prophesied Chorong, swoop in to bustle off with Eunji, her head pillowed on Chorong's shoulder. Wongeun watches them go and slides his gaze over to Cha Hakyeon, expecting to find him also hidden in a small crowd of concerned staff.

Hakyeon is wrinkling his nose down at his untouched tea, disappointed, and fatigue makes itself seen in the weary way he shrugs on his coat, drops his phone in a pocket before shoving his hand in as well. Exhaustion is drawn in the line of his back, his perfect posture suffering under the weight of fourteen-hour shoots.

Wongeun had combated the stress of the long day with coffee and the company of Eunji and Jisoo. Hakyeon, though, has been working all day, with nothing to show for it that Wongeun can see except puffy, tired eyes and a cup of cheap break-room tea tossed in the garbage undrunk.

"Hakyeon-ssi," Wongeun calls as Hakyeon gathers his things and makes to leave set. Hakyeon pauses automatically, looking around himself, and Wongeun jogs to catch up with him. They fall into step toward the parking lot just off set. Hakyeon walks slower than Wongeun by virtue of being shorter, but also with the heaviness of too long awake.

Still, his voice is carefully professional as he acknowledges Wongeun. "Wongeun-ssi." They reach the edge of the lot, and Hakyeon's gaze rakes over parked cars.

Wongeun clears his throat, unsure what he's allowed. If this were Eunji, he'd just _ask_ , but this is Cha Hakyeon, who seems to tolerate most of the people around him out of necessity alone. He's here to prove himself, and Wongeun is in a sea of people kept sharply at arm's length. 

"You don't drink coffee?" Wongeun finally manages, and Hakyeon hums in affirmation. He's softer this late at night, less energy to keep up finessed appearances. "Yeah, I saw you didn't get anything from Inyoungie's truck." _I saw you alone with a styrofoam cup of tea they stock in the break room while everyone else had lattes_. "There's a 24-hour coffeeshop a couple blocks down that has decent tea, though." _It's 11 p.m.,_ Wongeun remembers. "Herbal, too. If you're not too tired, we could go grab a drink?"

Wongeun thinks he sounds like he's trying too hard, but Hakyeon just sighs and glances balefully up at Wongeun, searching for an angle. He doesn't find it, and that little line between his eyebrows comes back. Wongeun must be sleepier than he thought, because a nagging instinct whispers to him that he should smooth that line out with the pad of his thumb, so it doesn't mar Hakyeon's doll-like face.

"Sure," Hakyeon agrees. "Let me tell my manager." He pulls his phone out and sends a quick text, shifting his weight as he awaits a response. When he gets it, he touches Wongeun's elbow lightly, a shadow of the way Eunji clings to Wongeun. "Lead the way." He pauses. "Call me 'hyung,' no one is around to think we're _friends_."

Wongeun's stomach drops, to hear it put so bluntly. "I'd like to be friends with you," he murmurs, eyes on the road as they start down the street. "Seems like you could use one, you now?"

At his side, Hakyeon stiffens. It's a brief chink in the armor, gone as quickly as it comes. "How so?"

Wongeun shrugs. "People who aren't idols...we make a lot of assumptions about idols. Eunji's a pretty, smart girl, she's got it easy with the guys on set, but—" Wongeun pauses, phrasing his next words with care. "Every time we cut, you're either on your phone or on your laptop."

"We come back in three months," Hakyeon explains, as if it's that simple. He trails Wongeun into the coffeeshop. "I'm the leader of VIXX. Of course I have things to do."

They settle into a booth looking onto the street, Wongeun trying not to look too wryly amused by Hakyeon's entire self-identity revolving around his job. It's a surprisingly mundane problem for someone so... _not-mundane_ as Cha Hakyeon.

"Is that what you are?" Wongeun asks, and he knows from his tone that his attempt at neutrality has failed, a bitter smile on his lips that he hides behind his menu. The ahjumma who runs the shop takes their orders and their menus. Hakyeon, who's been shielding his expression behind his menu, has nowhere to hide, and he shifts uneasily as Wongeun studies him. There's someone _real_ under there, the kind of person who orders peach-flavored tea at 11 p.m.

"Well, what do you think I am?" Feisty lift of the chin. Wongeun's heart warms, and it spills over into his smile.

"Well, I don't know, do I?" he teases, genuinely charmed by the mercurial shifts of Cha Hakyeon's entire self. "That's why I want to be friends with you."

***

Wongeun's manager is still turning the air a delicate shade of blue, cursing the traffic, as he pulls to a halt in a two-hour parallel parking spot.

"Your hair won't lie flat," he laments, batting at a stubborn curl as Wongeun stands on the sidewalk. "You're all puffy. You're late." Wongeun, honestly, considers himself to be doing quite well, despite his manager's anxiety. Wongeun is out of bed, dressed, and mostly conscious at 6:20 a.m." _Aish_. You, go, makeup. Good first impressions."

"At half past six?" Wongeun asks, scratchy from sleep and the espresso he'd chugged on the drive over to set. "Good impressions. At half past six."

"You want to do this for a career, don't you?" his manager ripostes. Far too high-strung for a time when the sun's not sure it wants to come out. Wongeun nods placidly, hoping that if he blinks hard enough he'll, oh, _juice_ the wakefulness out of himself. "Your costars have connections. Make nice. Be polite. Try not to offend anyone. I'm going to find parking, because _apparently_ the reserved lot is _full_."

He's already turning to climb back into the driver's seat when Wongeun finishes processing. "When have I _ever_ offended anybody?" Wongeun protests, suddenly very awake. "I'm always polite! Hyung!"

His manager shuts the car door and makes a little shooing motion that means, in Wongeun's expert opinion, _I'm done indulging you, go to makeup and don't become a pariah on the way_.

Wongeun pauses for a moment and stages his own battle with the strand of hair that's recently defeated his manager, finally deigning it not worth the effort when it will be hair-sprayed into submission in the near future. He pulls on his best congenial game face and makes his way toward the set proper.

"We're running a bit behind, makeup should be open soon," a harassed-looking stagehand apologizes when Wongeun waylays her, and Wongeun lets her go on her way with hasty reassurances that it's absolutely fine, Wongeun understands, Wongeun's running late himself. He strides off in the direction she points him, caffeine doing its good work as he walks.

The costars his manager was so adamant he play nice with are Apink's Eunji and VIXX's N. Though Eunji had exchanged numbers with Wongeun, and they have a string of cordially flirtatious text messages to show for it, Wongeun hasn't met Cha Hakyeon outside of the afternoon they'd spent reading the script, proving their chemistry to the powers that be. Hakyeon had been whisked away to his next schedule as soon as he'd cemented his role in _Cheer Up._

They're standing together, holding a conversation next to a table of catered vegetable trays in easy sight of the makeup trailer. "Nothing in the arts..." Eunji's eyes light on Wongeun, and she straightens out of the casual slouch she'd adopted for Cha Hakyeon.

"...ever runs on time," Hakyeon finishes, as Wongeun sends a halfhearted wave Eunji's way. "At least it's consistent."

Wongeun slides in next to Eunji and tries not to look _puffy_. "My philosophy," he explains, mock-didactic, "is that if everything runs 15 minutes late, I'm perfectly entitled to do the same." He realizes all at once that his breakfast consisted of strong coffee and half a bagel and leans past Eunji to grope around on the veggie tray until he emerges with...carrots. Good enough. He seizes a handful and jostles a bottle of water into the crook of his elbow.

When he straightens up, Eunji is giving him a stoic, resigned look. Hakyeon, on the other hand, seems to be vibrating fussily in place, though his face is almost entirely neutral. Before Wongeun can ask if Hakyeon has _named_ the bee in his bonnet, Hakyeon speaks, punctuating his words with teacherly shakes of his water bottle.

"It's a poor habit to get into," shake. "Running late." Shake. "Eventually you'll run late for your own wedding."

Well, this is a delightful and refreshing development. Wongeun laughs at the sheer _temerity,_ and when he shrugs, conceding the point, Hakyeon swans a little, proud of himself.

It's going to be an interesting shoot.

"I'll just have to avoid marriage, then," Wongeun agrees placidly, shoving two carrots into his mouth so he doesn't look too obviously won-over. He's already entertained by the judgmental little line between Hakyeon's eyebrows.

His manager's admonishment to be polite echoes through his mind, so he shifts his focus to Eunji. "Shouldn't be too hard, should it, Eunji?" he teases, familiar territory, voice garbled slightly by the mouthful of carrot. She has the good grace not to smack him for his poor manners, but Cha Hakyeon looks like he may do it for her. Chivalrous of him.

"Oppa," Eunji grumbles, and Wongeun smiles beatifically down, and down, and down. She's tiny next to him. This fact seems to somewhat clear up the storm clouds hovering around Hakyeon's forehead. "No one wants to marry someone they have to climb." She pauses delicately. "Even with your... _charming_ personality."

Wongeun's not firing on all cylinders, but he has the distinct feeling he's being slighted. "Wow, such acting chops!" he shoots back in a tone of sarcastic wonder. He turns to address Hakyeon. "Hakyeon-ssi, you'll have to work hard to outdo this one, I have no idea when she's _insulting_ me." Eunji's heel grinds harshly into the toe of Wongeun's shoe, and Wongeun winces with a _crunch_ of carrots.

Where is Jisoo, anyway? Wongeun needs someone to draw their ire.

"Our number..." Wongeun declares, "is incomplete. Where are the others?" And then, in case it isn't abundantly clear, "Why are you only harassing me? It's 6:30 in the morning."

The syrupy smile that spreads across Cha Hakyeon's lips is probably against set policy. Wongeun levels him with an unimpressed look and stuffs another carrot into his mouth.

"I expect," Hakyeon explains, dangerously sweet and slow, "that they're in the queue for makeup." He lifts his chin to gesture over Wongeun's shoulder. "The light went on right as you walked up, Wongeun-ssi." His words drip cloyingly, and he gives a short, polite little bow before sauntering past Eunji and Wongeun on his way to the now-open trailer.

Wongeun lets out a low whistle as he watches Hakyeon leave, not entirely sure what's just happened. "He's...really something."

Eunji hums in agreement. "Hakyeon-oppa is...always like that. He's kind of a force of nature, if nature _really_ liked fashion."

Wongeun takes the arm Eunji offers him and allows her to lead him off toward makeup, laughing the whole way there.  
  
This will be an interesting shoot, almost certainly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [lover, alone without love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282327) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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